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IN ONE GIRL’S EXPERIENCE. 



BY 


MARY HUBBARD HOWELL 


n 


Author of Through the Winter,” **In Safe Hands,” *‘Out 
OF the Shadow,” ** Along the Old Road,” '*On the 
Way Home,” **1n After Years.” 


The Lord is my strength and my shield. — Bible, 



PHILADELPHIA : 

THE AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
1122 Chestnut Street; 

New York: 8 & io bible house. 

Copyright, 1891, by The American Sunday-School Union. 



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CONTENTS 


OHAPTEE I. 

Left Alone 7 

CHAPTER II. 

What Next? .13 

CHAPTER III. 

Pen and Paper . . . . . . .29 

CHAPTER IV. 

School and Shop . . . . . .45 

CHAPTER V. 

Lamps and Candy 67 

CHAPTER VI. 

Why Most It Be? 84 

CHAPTER VII. 

Orders and Receipts 98 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Not Herself 119 

CHAPTER IX. 

Trying to Please 142 

CHAPTER X. 

Old China 163 

( 3 ) 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEE XI. 

Quarrels and Eeproofs . . . .183 

CHAPTEE XII. 

Through One Day 204 

CHAPTEE XIII. 

Words With Meanings 227 

CHAPTEE XIV. 

Self and Other Selves 243 

CHAPTEE XV. 

A Turn-a-round ....... 263 

CHAPTEE XVI. 

In the Study 281 

CHAPTEE XVII. 

Old Eecords Wanted 296 

CHAPTEE XVIII. 

Securing Testimony 317 

CHAPTEE XIX. 

In the Family Tree 337 

CHAPTEE XX. 

Author and Critic 354 


** Through poverty that had no lack, 

For friends divinely good ; 

Through pain that not too long did rack 
Through love that understood ; 

Through light that taught me what to hold, 
And what to cast away ; 

Through thy forgiveness manifold, 

And things I cannot say. 

Here thou hast brought me — able now 
To kiss thy garment’s hem, 

Entirely to thy will to bow. 

And trust thee to the end.” 

— Geo. Macdonald. 

( 5 ) 


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IN ONE GIRL’S EXPERIENCE. 


CHAPTER L 

LEFT ALONE. 

“ Many make the household, 

But only one the home.’’ 

— Lowell. 

^^TTONOR, Honor!” 

It was just midnight, and Honor Mont- 
gomery was lost in the deep, sweet sleep of 
healthy girlhood, when the door of her room 
was opened quickly, her name was called twice, 
and a woman, whose worsted slippers and loose 
flannel wrapper showed that her own rest had 
been suddenly disturbed, came hurriedly to her 
bedside. 

‘‘Honor, Honor,” the woman called again, in 
a voice that was shrill as well as troubled; but 
the sleeping girl only smiled, as if the call 
chimed well with her happy .dreams. For a 
second she moved restlessly ; but then she 
nestled her bright head deeper in her soft pil- 
low, and her low, gentle breathing told that her 
slumber was still unbroken. 


( 7 ) 


8 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


With sober eyes the woman watched her for 
a moment. “ I do declare, it’s a shame to wake 
her up to trouble,” she said, regretfully, to her- 
self; ‘“but I suppose it can’t be helped; the 
dying can’t wait, and she’s got to know.” And 
laying her hand on the girl’s uncovered arm, 
she called for the third time, “ Honor, Honor, 
do wake up.” 

At that last call Honor opened her eyes, and 
starting up in bed, looked anxiously about her. 
“ What is the matter? ” she asked as she saw the 
woman. “ What do you want. Miss Clark? ” 

. “ I want you to get up an’ dress,” Miss Clark 
answered, firmly. “ Your father is took sick.” 

Honor was still too bewildered to do more 
than sit up in her bed and stare at Miss Clark. 
“ Sick ? Is he very sick ? ” she asked in a slow, 
dull voice. 

“ Well, maybe he isn’t, and then again maybe 
he is,” Miss Clark answered, oracularly. While 
she was speaking she lighted Honor’s lamp, and 
when that was done, she walked to the door ; 
but there, with her hand on the knob, she 
stopped and looked with some impatience as 
well as anxiety at Honor, who was still in bed. 
“ Come, ain’t you goin’ to get up ? ” she asked 
sharply. 

Honor sprang out of bed, but then she stood 
still, and looked helplessly at Miss Clark. 


LEFT ALONE. 


9 


“I don’t understand it,” she said, in a per- 
plexed voice. “Father was well when I came 
to bed ; what is the matter with him now. Miss 
Clark?” 

“ I don’t know as I can tell you. I ain’t no 
doctor, and I don’t care to say what I think ; 
and if I did say it, it wouldn’t make no differ- 
ence, for opinions ain’t of no sort of conse- 
quence in such cases,” Miss Clark answered 
soberly. “ But,” she added as she openell the 
door, “ this ain’t no time for talkin’. I left the 
doctor with your father, and you had better 
come quick.” 

There was no . need of that last word, for 
Honor was fully aroused now, and painfully 
conscious that her father was very ill.^ With 
nervous haste she slipped on her wrapper, and 
when Miss Clark — after stepping in her usual 
deliberate manner down the stairs and across 
the hall — turned the knob of the sitting-room 
door, the girl stood beside her. 

“Well, you have been quick,” Miss Clark 
whispered, approvingly. “ Now ” — as they 
crossed the room to the sick man’s door — 
“ don’t you be frightened.” 

Honor’s only answer was a pitiful little shake 
of her head; but when she saw her father’s 
face — already pallid and drawn with pain — 
all nervous fears and thoughts of self were for- 


10 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

gotten in the one great and absorbing desire to 
do something to relieve him. And through 
that long night of agony she worked as only 
one who struggles for a dear one’s life can 
work. 

Slowly the darkness wore away; with the 
gray of the morning there came over the sick 
man’s face a solemn change. The doctor saw 
it, and while he felt his patient’s pulse, looked 
pitifully at Honor. Miss Clark saw it, and drew 
nearer to the side of the trembling girl, with a 
tender longing to strengthen her for the sorrow 
no human power could avert. 

There was no pain now, but only extreme 
weakness, as with each new moment the sick 
man drew nearer the brink of that river whose 
tide is always flowing out. 

Is it morning ? ” he asked feebly. “ Draw 
back the curtain ; let me see the light.” 

Back from an east window Honor drew the 
curtain. Already the morning sky was flushed 
with the promise of the sunrise, and in the air 
there was the strange soft stir, that comes so 
often with the early dawn. All around there 
were signs of opening day. From a tree, near 
the window, there came a low sweet piping 
from a nest full of young just awakened birds ; 
over the hard road Honor could hear a milk- 
man’s cart rattling on its way to the station ; 


LEFT ALONE. 


11 


and from the chimney across the street a wreath 
of blue smoke was curling lazily upward. 
Yes, the day was breaking, and even then the 
world was all astir with life and activity. But 
in that quiet chamber — as in how many others 
throughout the wide world — there was one who 
was looking upon it all for the last time ; and 
who was fast going from the hurry and labor 
that we call living to the rest that the angels 
know is life. 

Slowly from the window, with its fair fresh 
outlook, the dying eyes wandered to the bright 
young head bowed near them on the pillow. 
Feebly the weak hand moved until it rested on 
the soft hair. 

“ My little Honor,” the faint voice said ten- 
derly, “ look up, and listen to me. The hardest 
part of dying is leaving you here alone. I 
would stay and take care of you if I could — 
I never thought of such a sudden call. Things 
are not as I would like to leave them — There 
are debts that must be paid — I am afraid there 
will not be much left for you — If I had known 
— oh, if I had only known ” — As if touched by 
some painful memory the weak voice faltered 
for a moment. 

With a tender desire to give comfort. Miss 
Clark spoke. “ Don’t feel bad about Honor, 
she’ll be cared for,” she said, gently. 


12 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

A light that was more beautiful than a smile 
illumined the dying man’s face. know,” 
he murmured softly — “ I know, God has prom- 
ised to be a Father to the fatherless, and his 
promises are sure. Be a good girl, my darling, 
and trust in him — He will take care of you — I 
leave you — in — his hands. Ask him — to help — 
you.” 

Slowly, at intervals, came the last words. 
The feeble breath grew fainter and fainter ; the 
hand, that still rested on the young head, grew 
nerveless and chill. 

“ It is over,” the doctor said gravely. 

Honor raised her head ; and as she looked at 
her father, and, for the first time in her life, 
saw in his face no answering look of love for 
her his only child, she felt in all its bitterness 
the truth that she was left alone, an orphan in 
a world where there were few to share her grief, 
and fewer still, bound to her by the strong ties 
of family and blood, to give her sympathy and 
aid in the unknown future that lay before her. 


CHAPTER 11. 


WHAT NEXT? 

“ Better to trust in God than say 
My goods my storehouse fill.” 

— George Macdonald, 

TT was the twilight of a fair June day, one 
week after the sad night when Honor had 
awakened from her happy dreams to face the 
sharp realities of suffering and death. The 
work of the day was over, but Miss Clark and 
the young girl still lingered in the neat kitchen 
of the old farm-house. 

“Let’s stay here,” Miss Clark said when 
Honor proposed going into the sitting-room. 
“ When there’s trouble in a house, I do believe 
the kitchen is the cheerfulest place to be in. 
You see. Honor, work seems, some how, to keep 
rooms bright as well as hearts.” 

“ All rooms are alike to me,” Honor said in 
a despondent voice. 

Miss Clark did not answer ; with her usual 
composure she seated herself in the chintz- 
cushioned rocking-chair, that had stood for 
years in a corner of the kitchen, and with a 

( 13 ) 


14 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

mournful sigh Honor sat down on a low bench 
near her. The lamp stood on the table, but 
they did not care to light it ; and in the deep- 
ening dusk with folded hands, but busy and 
troubled minds they sat together. Both were 
conscious that there was much they ought to 
consider and talk over, and each was dreading 
to be the first to speak. 

Presently, with a long-drawn breath, Miss 
Clark broke the oppressive silence: “Well,” 
she ejaculated slowly, “ things have come to a 
sudden end sure enough. Really, I don’t know 
as it would have surprised me much more if 
the world itself had come to an end. Just 
think, Honor, I’ve been housekeeper for your 
father an’ you ever since your mother died, and 
that was ten years ago, when you were a little 
girl only eight years old. I’d got used to living 
here, the things and me some how seemed to 
belong together ; an’ I felt comfortably settled 
for the rest of my life. And now it seems just 
as if there’d been an earthquake ; all my expect- 
ations are so completely upset. It is very 
strange how little common sense some folks, 
an’ sensible folks, too, show in the manage- 
ment of their own affairs. Now, here’s your 
father’s case. Honor. He was honest an’ indus- 
trious ; he worked hard all his life, and the 
neighbors always supposed he was pretty well 


WHAT NEXT? 


15 


off. But now they say there is scarcely a dollar 
left for you. Lawyer Graham says the farm is 
mortgaged for more than it will sell for, an’ this 
old house and all that’s of any value in it has 
got to go under the hammer ; and even when 
everything is sold there won’t be money enough 
to pay the debts.” 

As Miss Clark continued to recount her 
troubles her voice grew quicker ; and now with 
unusual energy she exclaimed : I do declare, 

I do think it is a sin and a shame for men to 
run in debt for things they haven’t the money 
to pay for. There ought to be a law forbidding 
it ; an’ I don’t believe but there will be in the 
millennium. But dear me ” — and once more 
Miss Clark’s voice grew very doleful — “the 
millennium is too far off to do you an’ me any 
good, Honor. The mischief is done so far as 
we are concerned. We can’t call this old house 
home much longer. We’ll have to separate, I 
suppose, and I’ll just have to pack my trunk 
and move elsewhere. Well, I do hope the old 
hymn is true when it tells us, that there is rest 
for the weary on the other side of Jordan, for I 
am sure there ain’t much rest on this side that 
the weary can depend on,” 

Busy with her own sad thoughts Honor had 
not paid much attention to Miss Clark’s long 
preamble ; but now, as the good woman paused 


16 IN ONE qikl’s experience. 

for breath, the young girl asked, Where are 
you going ? ’’ 

I don’t know,” Miss Clark replied quickly, 
“that is, I haven’t quite decided. You see. 
Honor, when one’s plans are all upset an’ 
knocked over, it ain’t as easy to make new ones, 
as it is for children to build up their block 
houses after a fall. Still I am beginning to see 
my way. Fve written to my cousin out in 
Illinois. She’s a widow, an’ pretty comfortably 
settled on a farm, an’ I shouldn’t be at all sur- 
prised if I went to her ; — for a spell at any 
rate. I guess she’ll think it worth her while to 
invite me, for she knows I’ve got a bank book, 
and have been piecing bed quilts, an’ laying up 
nice things all these years I’ve been housekeep- 
ing here ; and Sabrina is like most folks — she 
cares more for them that’s full handed, than she 
does for them whose hands are empty. But la, 
that’s the way of the world, and I don’t lay it 
up against her ; in fact, I b’lieve I’m glad it is 
so, for it makes me feel certain that, if I make 
up my mind to knock at her door, she will be 
more than ready to take me in.” 

As Miss Clark ended her long explanation 
she smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of her 
apron, and looked well-satisfied with herself 
and her prospects. 

“ You have been very kind to me, and I hope 


WHAT NEXT? 


17 


you will be happy and comfortable wherever 
you may go,” Honor said, gratefully. 

“ I shall try to be ; for I never could see any 
merit in being uncomfortable when it wasn’t 
necessary,” Miss Clark answered with decision. 
‘‘But still,” she continued, thoughtfully, “I 
ain’t at all sure that I am going to fall into a 
bed of feathers. Honor. Changes are pretty 
apt, like a good many folk’s marriages, to be 
made for the worse instead of for the better. 
An’ going among strangers, even when they 
are relations, is a good deal like going chestnut- 
ing ; it is always safe to count on a good many 
pricks. However, I’ve learned to take good care 
of myself, and I have no fears but what, some- 
how or other, I’ll get along. But, Honor,” and 
now Miss Clark’s complacent voice was touched 
with sincere anxiety, “ I am more worried about 
you than I am about myself. You ain’t never 
had to fight with the world, as I have had to. 
You have been took care of all your life, an’ 
kinder kept — ^like the china tea-set on the high 
shelf in the closet — as if you were a little bit 
too good for every-day use. Now your troubles 
are just beginning; an’ when things are set- 
tled here, an’ I am gone, the great question is, 
What will you do next ? ” 

How often, oh, how often, in this strange life 
of ours, when our hearts are still half-stunned 
2. 


18 IN ONE GIKL’S experience. 

from some crushing blow, are we confronted 
with this stern, must-be-answered question: 
What will you do next ? And how often are 
we forced sadly and almost hopelessly to answer, 
as Honor did now, 

‘‘I don’t know.” 

“ Hum,” Miss Clark said, after a moment’s 
consideration of Honor’s unsatisfactory answer, 
“that’s just what I supposed you would say, 
Honor. But if ignorance is ever bliss it ain’t 
in your case, and now just let me tell you, that 
you have got to find out what you are going to 
do, an’ that pretty soon too. Business, like 
time, most always seems to be in a hurry, and 
in your case it isn’t very likely to loiter. That 
large mortgage, you know, is in Squire Skin- 
ner’s hands ; and he ain’t the man to move slow 
when there are dollars to pick up. It is his 
creed that he helps other folks most by helping 
himself first ; so you needn’t expect any con- 
sideration from him. Honor.” 

“ I don’t,” Honor said shortly. 

“Well, it’s just as well, if you don’t,” Miss 
Clark replied, with a wise nod of her head. 
“ Them that expects nothing, won’t never be 
disappointed when they are dealing with a 
Squire Skinner. Still, I must say, it does seem 
pretty hard to be turned out of one’s home in 
this way, an’ 1 am very sorry for you. Honor. 


WHAT NEXT? 


19 


But, dear me,” the kind-hearted woman con- 
tinued, as she brushed away what looked sus- 
piciously like a tear, “ it ain’t no use to com- 
plain, for you can’t control circumstances, when 
other folks have got the managing of them, no 
more than you can runaway horses. - But there’s 
one comfort. Honor, you’ve got a good educa- 
tion. Your father spent a heap of money on 
your schooling. I used to think, sometimes, 
that paying boardin’-school bills was a pretty 
poor investment for his hard-earned dollars; 
but maybe the time has come when the invest- 
ment will pay good interest. I’m sure I hope 
so. I suppose you can teach school now. Honor, 
can’t you ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” Honor answered in a dreamy 
tone, as if she felt little personal interest in the 
question, “ it never has seemed to me that I 
would like to teach.” 

“Dear me, child,” Miss Clark exclaimed 
impatiently, “ you don’t seem to have no more 
understanding of what I am saying than if you 
was living in dreamland. Do wake up, and try 
to understand your situation. It isn’t any 
question now of what you would like to do, 
Honor, it is what you can do, and must do, that 
you have got to consider, an’ that without any 
loss of time. There ain’t, to my certain knowl- 
edge, more than twenty-five dollars belonging 


20 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

to you in this house to-night, an’ there ain’t no 
bank that you can draw more from ; an’ so, 
Honor, you see you will have to earn your daily 
bread by your daily work; and I wish you 
would tell me what work you are going to do.” 

‘‘How can I tell you when I don’t know 
myself,” Honor said, helplessly. “ There are a 
great many women in the world who support 
themselves, and what they do, I suppose I can 
do ; but I cannot say to-night what particular 
work I will do. I must think before I decide.” 

“ Well,” Miss Clark said, as she left her chair, 
took a match from the safe on the mantel, and 
proceeded to light the lamp, “ I hope you will 
think to some purpose, Honor, but it has always 
been my opinion, that it is doing, more than 
thinking, that keeps the pocket-book well 
filled.” 

Honor gave a little impatient exclamation, 
but Miss Clark did not heed it. “Honor,” 
she said, as she resumed her seat and looked 
soberly at the girl, “I have had more experi- 
ence in this knock-about world than you have 
had, an’ now I shan’t never feel satisfied that 
I’ve done my duty by you, if I don’t give you 
a little good advice. If you are going to be an 
independent an’ self-supporting woman, you’ve 
just got to stop day-dreaming, and building air 
castles. You always have been a master-hand 


WHAT NEXT? 


21 


at that kind of work you know, Honor, but you 
might just as reasonably expect to find the pot 
of gold at the foot of the rainbow, as to expect 
that real work will come to you, if you just sit 
and dream about it, an’ don’t try to find it.” 

Honor gave a weary sigh, but Miss Clark 
went mercilessly on. 

“ You must be right resolute too, with your- 
self, Honor, and take the first respectable work 
that offers, without stopping to consider whether 
the chances are in favor of your liking or not 
liking to do it. In fact. Honor, the chances are 
that you won’t like to do it. We have all got 
so much lazy blood in us, that real work of any 
kind always seems hard, especially at first. 
But that don’t make any difference, except, 
perhaps, that it makes life a little harder for us ; 
if we are poor we must work; for the world 
ain’t so much obliged to any of us for living, 
that it owes us a support we don’t labor for.” 

“ I don’t want the world to support me,” 
Honor broke in, indignantly. . 

“ Well, it ain’t going to,” Miss Clark said 
consolingly. She waited a few moments to let 
Honor take the full comfort of her last assur- 
ance, and then she began again . 

“ Honor,” she said, “ I don’t know as you’ve 
got a relation in the world that can help you 
now, have you ? ” 


22 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“ Not that I know of,” Honor acknowledged 
sadly. 

‘‘I know you ain’t,” Miss Clark said posi- 
tively. “ You see, Honor, your mother was an 
only child — it’s a dreadful pity to be an only 
child I think — and your father — ” Miss Clark 
hesitated. “Well, I ain’t sure,” she said in a 
moment, “ but I suppose he was an only, too. 
After all. Honor,” she went on — Miss Clark, 
like Tennyson’s brook, had a happy faculty for 
going on — “ I don’t know as your not having 
relations makes any matter. Folks that count 
on their rich relations helping them, are just as 
foolish as those other folks who count their 
chickens afore they are hatched. In either case, 
it is my opinion, that the expectations will 
always be, bigger than the receipts.” 

Honor moved impatiently. “Please don’t 
talk any longer about my relations and expect- 
ations, Miss Clark,” she said, fretfully. “ I 
have told you that I have neither.” 

“Well, if you really do realize that you 
haven’t I have accomplished something,” Miss 
Clark said cheerfully. “ You see. Honor, I want 
to impress it upon you that you have got to 
depend upon yourself. You have always lived 
in a queer sort of world, made up of dreams 
and storj^ books. You never have had to think 
about unpleasant things, and your father would 


WHAT NEXT? 


23 


as soon have let fire touch you as trouble. I do 
believe that the hardest questiorr you have had 
to answer since you left school has been what 
kind of cloth you would have for a dress, and 
how you would have it made ? But now every- 
thing is changed. You can no longer sit still 
and eat cake that somebody else has earned for 
you ; in fact, Honor, I believe it is my duty to 
warn you that, in all probability, you won’t 
have much cake ; but you must have bread, and 
the question is, how are you goin’ to get it? 
And that is a hard question, child, and one it 
will take all your smartness, and education, 
too, to answer.” 

Honor could bear no more ; rising suddenly 
she opened the outside door, and closing it 
behind her sat down on the doorstep. 

It was a still, moonlight Summer night. The 
warm wind was heavy with the fragrance of 
roses and syringas, and insects hummed 
drowsily in the fc^hrubbery. There seemed no 
want and no sorrow in that peaceful out-door 
world ; but Honor’s poor heart was burdened 
with cares and fears, and the beauty of that 
quiet evening served only to deepen her sad- 
ness. 

She was just eighteen, a healthy girl, and a 
graduate of a young ladies’ seminary. She was 
also pretty, with a grace and attractiveness of 


24 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

manner that pleased all who came within her 
influence. Now, with these gifts and qualifi- 
cations, she was to go forth, somewhere, into 
the wide world, and, as Miss Clark had so 
plainly told her, earn by her daily toil her daily 
bread. 

What was she going to do? 

As she had told Miss Clark: she did not 
know. 

What was she capable of doing ? 

That question, unfortunately, had to receive 
the same answer : she did not know. 

Her mother had died when she was very 
young, and her father’s chief anxiety in life had 
been to shield her, his only child, from all 
annoyances and hardships. She had made sun- 
shine for him in his lonely home, but no work 
of any kind ever had been required of her. 
She could sweep and dust the parlor, arrange 
flowers beautifully, and loop curtains grace- 
fully; but of all the homely and useful kinds 
of work, that are so essential to the comfort of 
every-day life, she had little experimental 
knowledge. She was, in truth, too ignorant to 
be able either to manage servants well or to 
make a good servant herself, had she felt 
obliged to become one. 

Her fingers almost blushed at their helpless- 
ness as she tried, that night, to think of some 


WHAT NEXT? 


25 


one thing she really could do well. She could 
sew ; but even in that acknowledged realm of 
woman’s work, she felt that, if she would be 
truthful, she must add the limiting phrase, a 
little ; for it was a very simple and plain piece 
of sewing that she could do, from its beginning 
to its end, and finish beautifully. 

But Miss Clark had said, “ You have a good 
education.” 

Had she ? 

For four years, at a great outlay of money, 
and by the exercise of rigid self-denial, her 
father had kept her at an expensive boarding- 
school ; and laid carefully away in her desk, 
with a few withered flowers was a diploma, 
daintily tied with white ribbon, certifying that 
she had completed the required course of study, 
and was a graduate. 

What now, in her hour of need, could that 
white-ribboned diploma do for her ? 

Very little, as in deep humiliation Honor 
confessed to herself. She had a smattering, and 
a superficial knowledge of many studies; but 
she knew nothing thoroughly. She understood 
enough of many subjects to be able, perhaps, 
to appreciate the attainments of others wiser 
than herself; but she did not understand one 
of those subjects well enough to be able to 
explain it, plainly and intelligently, to those 


26 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

more ignorant than herself. She never had 
expected to teach ; and when her lessons were 
hard and uninteresting she had contented her- 
self with just skimming over them. She had 
not intended to do wrong, or abuse her advant- 
ages, but it had not seemed to her at all neces- 
sary that she should be faithful in the perform- 
ance of all the duties her teachers laid upon 
her. 

Very regretfully, that Summer night, the poor 
girl thought of the half-learned lessons, the 
dreamed-away hours, and the wasted opportu- 
nities of her school days. And this solemn 
truth was impressed forever upon her mind — 
that ill God’s plan for us there is no room for 
waste. The fragments are all to be gathered 
up ; and if advantages are neglected, opportu- 
nities thrown carelessly away, time idled away, 
when it should be usefully employed, and 
strength squandered in trifles, there will surely 
come a sorrowful day, when, with unavailing 
regrets, we will long for the privileges we once 
despised, and find that, like the birds flown 
from their nests, they will return to us no more. 

On the very threshold of her life, Honor felt 
helpless and discouraged; and the rebellious 
thought stole into her mind that her burdens 
were too heavy for her to bear alone, and death 
itself would be better than the long and toil- 


WHAT NEXT? 


27 


some years that seemed to lie before her. But 
her nature was too sweet and hopeful, willingly 
to indulge such morbid fancies long ; and soon, 
with the memory of her father, came the 
memory of his last solemn words, “I leave 
you in God’s hands.” 

Was she really there, in God’s strong, tender, 
and protecting hands? Honor started at that 
thought. There was a reality and a depth of 
meaning in it she had never felt before. She 
tried to think of other things, but still that 
earnest question pressed for an answer: Did she 
believe she was in God’s hands, did she want 
to be in them ? Did she want, — for this seemed 
to her the true meaning of those words, — did 
she want God’s will to be done in her life ; did 
she want to do that will ? 

For a long time Honor sat that Summer 
night, under the stars, on the old porch, and 
pondered those solemn questions. 

She had been brought up carefully in a 
Christian home, where the Bible had been 
reverenced, and its teachings unquestioningly 
believed ; but Honor had never thought herself 
a Christian. Now one of the decisive moments, 
that come to every soul, had come to her. 
Before she went on, to meet the changes of the 
unknown future, she felt that night that she 
must answer truthfully two solemn questions. 


28 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

Did she, or rather, — for she knew it was 
more her will than her intellect that had to 
answer, — would she believe in, and accept her 
Bible as God’s revealed law for the guidance 
of her life ? and would she believe in, and trust 
herself, with a child’s confidence, to the God 
to whose care her father had committed her ? 

Alone in the starry silence Honor considered 
those questions ; at last, in a slow, firm voice, 
as if she were speaking to someone near her 
though unseen, she said aloud : 

‘‘Yes, I do believe in, and I will trust my 
father’s God. Poor and friendless, with no one 
to counsel or to guide me, I give myself to the 
Lord. I will learn the lessons he sets me ; I 
will do the work he sends me ; I will obey the 
commands he lays upon me.” 

The solemn deed was done. Kneeling there 
by the old door-step, with only the stars for 
watchers. Honor placed herself, where her father 
had left her, in God’s care. And though there 
came, at the moment, no sudden light upon her 
path, nor any voice to tell her what her next 
step should be, there did come into her heart 
a sense of peace and safety, such as only comes 
to the child who clings to the Father’s hand, 
and rests in his protecting love. 


CHAPTER III. 


PEN AND PAPER. 


“ What though we fail indeed, 

You — I — a score of such weak workers, 
God fails never. 

— Mrs. Browning. 


IJIRUE to a plan she formed that night, Honor 
went the next day to ask the advice of one 
of her father’s oldest and most trusted friends. 
She felt great confidence in his judgment, for 
she had heard her father call him a deep thinker. 
But it is one thing to speculate intellectually 
about life’s problems, and it is quite another 
thing to give sound, practical counsel to one 
individual life. Mr. Raymond listened kindly 
to Honor’s sad story, and then said : 

“Think over your talents, my dear, and 
choose the work for which you feel best adapted. 
Faithful labor, in the direction of our talents, 
will commonly insure success.” 

The advice sounded good, and that it did not 
touch on matter-of-fact realities made it the more 
attractive to Honor. She went home, passed a 
sleepless night trying to decide what her talents 

( 29 ) 


30 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

were, and the next morning, when she joined 
Miss Clark at the breakfast table, she seemed 
dreamy and preoccupied. 

Miss Clark watched her for a few moments, 
and then asked sharply: “What is the matter 
with you. Honor ? ” 

“Oh nothing,” Honor answered, “only, — 
I’ve thought of a plan. Miss Clark.” 

“You really have, have you? Well, I do 
hope it’s a plan that will work. A good many 
plans seem to me just like engines without 
steam. They look as if they could carry you 
anywhere, but, when you try ’em, you find that 
something is lacking, an’ so they just stand 
still. Where is your plan going to carry you, 
hey ? ” and as she spoke. Miss Clark sat back 
in her chair and waited, with a good deal of 
curiosity, for Honor’s answer. 

“It won’t take me far away, at least not 
immediately,” Honor slowly explained. “It is 
something I am going to do in my room, 
Miss Clark. You won’t mind if you don’t see 
much of me for two or three days, will you ? 
I shall be very busy, and I don't want any 
interruptions.” 

“ Do in your room ? ” Miss Clark repeated. 
“Well, I am just as puzzled, Honor, as if you 
had asked me to guess a riddle. I am sure you 
ain’t going to sew, for you ain’t much more 


PEN AND PAPER. 


31 


knack with your needle, than a baby has with 
a hammer, an’ what you are going to do I con- 
fess I can’t imagine. You ain’t going to tear 
up the floor in hopes you’ll find gold under it, 
are you ? ” 

“No, but I am going to do something that I 
hope will bring me gold. Miss Clark. I am 
going,” and now Honor spoke very slowly, and 
as if she felt deeply impressed herself with the 
seriousness of her undertaking, “ I am going — 
to try — to write.” 

“Good land of love,” Miss Clark exclaimed, 
“What do you mean. Honor? You don’t mean 
that you are going to try to write a book, do 
you?” 

“ Something like it,” Honor confessed, while 
her cheeks flushed under Miss Clark’s curious 
gaze. “ I shall begin with a short story or an 
essay, but if that succeeds then I hope the book 
will follow.” 

“Well, I always knew you weren’t just like 
other girls,” Miss Clark answered, “ but I 
didn’t know before that you had a book in your 
head. Now, Honor, I ain’t very wise, an’ I 
don’t know much about book making, but I do 
believe it is my duty to tell you that I don’t 
think your plan a very sensible one. I’ve seen 
a good many men try to whistle like the birds, 
and call ’em down within reach of their guns, 


32 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


but I’ve never known but two or three men 
that could do it well ; and just so I do suppose 
that there are a good many folks who try to 
write books, and hope to make money doing it, 
but I guess the most of ’em are like the men 
who try to call the birds — they find they can’t 
do it — sue — cess — ful — ly.” 

With a shake of her head that gave emphasis 
to her last slowly spoken word, Miss Clark, 
satisfied now that she had done her duty, 
turned her attention to the breakfast. Honor’s 
‘‘ plan ” had made her forget, and proceeded to 
pour the coffee. But though the coffee was 
clear as amber, and looked very tempting in her 
delicate china cup. Honor cared little for it; 
and just as little did she care for Miss Clark’s 
arguments against her ambitious scheme. It 
had occurred to her during the night while she 
was acting on Mr. Raymond’s advice, and 
“ thinking over her talents.” Suddenly, — like 
an inspiration, as she said hopefully to herself — 
came the suggestion, why couldn’t she become 
an author? Always when at school it had 
been an easy task for her to write composi- 
tions, and her teachers and schoolmates had 
been generous in their praise of her efforts. 
If she had any talent Honor decided that it 
must be a talent for writing. And now, in 
this her hour of need, why shouldn’t she use 


PEN AND PAPER. 


33 


her talent and write for newspapers and maga- 
zines ? 

There really was no good reason why she 
should not, provided she could; and Honor, 
like many another who stands before an unat- 
tempted task, was confident that she could. 
Her face flushed and her heart beat fast as she 
thought over her plan. It seemed such a de- 
lightful way out of all her difficulties ; “ For of 
course^” she argued in her simplicity, ^‘authors 
never failed to make both money and friends.” 
Before it was time to rise that early Summer 
morning Honor had planned a novel with the 
.comprehensive title, “The Puzzles All Solved.” 
But after a good deal of deliberation she decided 
that her first literary effort should be an essay. 
It seemed more in the line of the compositions 
she had been accustomed to write when at 
school; it would not require quite as much 
planning and literary carpenter work as a story, 
in which the incidents and characters must all 
be made to match and dovetail into each other, 
and then — and this was a strong argument in 
its favor — an essay would be much shorter than 
a serial story. She surely could write one in 
a day or two, and perhaps (for her dreams were 
sanguine as well as aspiring) in a week’s time the 
editor who was so fortunate as to receive her 
manuscript would write her a kind letter, 

3 


34 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

enclosing a liberal check, and would modestly 
state that a column in his paper would always 
be open to her contributions. 

Ah, Honor built a beautiful palace out of her 
day-dreams that morning ; but only those who 
have never dreamed and never failed could bear 
to laugh at her. 

Her faith in the success of her attempt was 
perfect, and as soon as she could, she began her 
pleasant task. A line in the ‘‘ Bigelow Papers,” 
‘‘ 0, ef we hed only jest got recognition,” 
furnished her with both title and motto for her 
essay, and with a brave determination to deserve 
and win ‘‘recognition ” for herself as an author, 
she brought out her paper, and sharpened her 
lead-pencils. 

All that day she spent in her room, and at 
sunset four sheets of commercial note paper, 
closely written in lead-pencil, lay on her desk. 

“Is it done yet?” Miss Clark asked that 
evening, while she was wiping the tea dishes. 

“ It ? ” Honor repeated absently, “ oh, you 
mean my essay? No, but it will be to-mor- 
row.” 

“ And how much do you think you’ll get for 
it ? ” Miss Clark asked, with her mind intent 
upon the practical result of Honor’s great work. 

“Well,” Honor answered slowly, “you know 
I never have written for the press before. Miss 


PEN AND PAPEE. 


35 


Clark, and so I don’t know certainly how 
much I will get; but I have read that Mrs. 
Stowe used to get ten dollars a column when 
she wrote for the ‘‘Atlantic,” and, at that 
rate, I think I ought to receive about fifty 
dollars.” 

Miss Clark dropped her tea-towel and looked 
at Honor in blank amazement for a moment. 

“ You don’t really mean that writers make 
money as easy as that, do you ? ” she exclaimed. 
“ Why, Honor, at that rate your brain will pay 
you almost as well as a California gold mine. 
Well, I must confess it is a pretty nice thing to 
have books in your head, and to be able to write 
them down on paper.” 

Honor smiled brightly. “ I think it is my- 
self,” she said so innocently, that even if Miss 
Clark thought her mistaken and conceited she 
was not hard-hearted enough to tell her so. 

The next morning Honor began to copy her 
essay, and now a lion, she found it hard to con- 
quer, stood in her way. It was one thing to 
jot down her thoughts with a lead-pencil, with- 
out any regard to rhetoric and grammar, and 
it was quite another thing to write every sen- 
tence out carefully, with each word well-chosen 
and in its proper place. She found now that 
a good many little details, that at first seemed 
to her of small consequence, were in reality 


36 m ONE girl’s experience. 

among the very foundation principles of good 
writing. She was often in doubt about the 
construction of her sentences, and although she 
supposed she knew her mother-tongue thor- 
oughly, she found, on comparison, that her 
English had a very independent but not always 
satisfactory way of disagreeing with the En- 
glish taught in Brown’s grammar. Capitals and 
punctuation also puzzled her, but she said to 
herself consolingly : 

“ Genius is always recognized and admired, 
even if, sometimes, it does show a lack of famil- 
iarity with dictionaries and rhetorics.” 

And so, undaunted by her little discourage- 
ments, Honor persevered ; and at the close of 
the third day the essay was copied, and she felt 
ready to submit it to the editor. 

But what editor? Editors had always 
seemed to her as vague and impersonal as the 
public opinion they represented ; but now she 
suddenly remembered that they were very real 
and important personages, and that, from among 
the large number who ruled over the papers and 
magazines of the country, she must now select 
one, and to him offer her article. 

This imperative necessity, from which she 
could in no way escape, if she wished her essay 
published, caused Honor serious trouble. Pres- 
ently what seemed to her a happy thought 


PEN AND PAPER. 


37 


relieved her perplexity. There, was the Rev. 
R. S. Truman. His books were full of charity 
and kind feeling. Why not write to him, and 
inclose her essay, and ask his assistance ? This 
thought no sooner occurred to Honor than she 
decided to act upon it. The sun was just set- 
ting, but in the bright June twilight she could 
still see well, and once more seizing her pen, 
in nervous haste and with a trembling hand she 
wrote : 


BroadJieldSy iV. Y . , June lO/A, 18 — . 

Rev. R. S. Teuman, 

Deak Sir : — I am a young girl, an orphan, and without 
friends. I am obliged to support myself, and I am very 
anxious to become a writer. I have just finished a short 
essay that I hope is worth publishing ; but I have no 
friends to criticise it, and I do not know where to send it. 
In my trouble and indecision I have thought of you. I 
fear I am very presumptuous, but I do need help very much, 
and if you will kindly read my manuscript, and — if you 
think it good enough to be published — advise me where to 
send it, I shall be very grateful. Please pardon me if I 
am asking too much. 

Very respectfully yours. 

Honor Thorn Montgomery. 

“Well?” Miss Clark said interrogatively, 
when a little later she met Honor in the hall 
dressed to go out. 

“ I am only going to the post-ofBce,” the 
young girl explained ; and as she spoke she held 


38 m ONE giel’s expeeience. 

up tlie envelope containing her precious manu- 
script. 

“ Going to mail it, are you ? ” Miss Clark said, 
“ and expect to get fifty dollars for it, do you ? 
Well, go along. I suppose we all have to learn 
from experience that there ain’t no truth in 
fairy stories.” 

Honor laughed. ‘‘ You are a dear old 
croaker,” she said gayly, as she ran out of the 
house, but if the fairy stories are not true, there 
are real stories that are far more wonderful 
than any imaginary ones — as I will prove to 
you some day.” 

“ Hope you will,” Miss Clark soliloquized, as 
she stood in the open door and watched Honor 
go down the street. “Yes, I certainly do hope 
you will. But I have always been firm about 
not believing stories until I have good proof 
they are true, and now I shan’t count on tfiat 
fifty dollars until I hold it in my hand, or see 
it in yours.” 

The next week was a very trying one for 
Honor. With feverish impatience she waited 
and watched for a letter from Dr. Truman, 
and the hopeful spirit in which she went each 
day to the post-office, was only equalled by the 
disappointed feeling with which she left it. 
One afternoon, when she was not very well, 
Miss Clark offered to go to the post-office for 


PEN AND PAPER. 


39 


her, and when she returned, though she said 
nothing, and seemed to take off her bonnet and 
shawl with unusual deliberation. Honor was 
sure that when she first came in she had caught 
a glimpse of a letter in her hand. She tried to 
ask. Have you anything for me ? but her voice 
failed her, and she could only wait in silence 
until Miss Clark, having pinned up her shawl 
in a towel and laid it in her closet, was ready 
to sit down. 

“ Here, Honor,” she said then, “ I am dread- 
fully afraid you are going to be disappointed, 
and I do believe I had just about as soon lose 
money as give you these, but I suppose you’ve 
got to have ’em.” And as Miss Clark spoke 
she laid two letters in Honor’s lap. 

With cheeks that flushed and then grew pale, 
and hands that trembled and felt strangely 
cold. Honor took them up. One was quite a 
thick letter ; and even as she opened the envel- 
ope Honor realized what it was. Slowly she 
drew out the folded sheets ; she did not need to 
open them she recognized them at once. The 
essay over which she had dreamed so happily 
was returned to her. There was a blur over 
her eyes for a few moments, and then she 
noticed a slip of thin paper folded inside 
her manuscript. With fingers that seemed 
to tingle with pain she unfolded it and read : 


40 


IN ONE GIBL’S EXPEBIENCE. 


Dear Madam : — We are so crowded that we have no 
room for your article in our paper, and therefore return it 
with thanks. Respectfully, 

Editor of Age of Fiction, 

Honor dropped the paper that had so piti- 
lessly crushed her hopes, and then she buried 
her face in the pillow of the lounge on which 
she was sitting. She could not cry ; she felt 
too hopeless for tears ; the disappointment 
seemed utterly irretrievable. Never, through 
all her after life, did she recall that hour with- 
out feeling again that sting of bitter pain, 
humiliation, and disappointment. Min utes past, 
but she neither spoke nor moved. Presently 
Miss Clark, who with her keen eyes had watched 
and understood it all, spoke. 

Come, Honor,” she said cheerfully, don’t 
feel so cast down. You ain’t the first one that’s 
failed, an’ you won’t be the last. I know you 
are disappointed, and I am sorry for you, but 
then perhaps it would have been worse for you 
in the end if you had succeeded now. I have 
been disappointed in a good many things in my 
life, and I’ve kinder come to feel that disap- 
pointments are a good deal like tonics — they 
are generally pretty bitter, and just because 
they are, they generally do you good. I know 
you wanted to write a book, but I suppose the 
Lord wants you to do something else — for a 


PEN AND PAPER. 


41 


while at least. Come, now, if I was you I’d 
just hearten up, an’ read my other letter.” 

Her other letter ! Honor had forgotten that 
she had another, but now she raised her head 
and took it up. 

‘‘Return to Rev. R. S. Truman if not deliv- 
ered in ten days,” she read on the envelope, and 
with a feeling of pity for herself she opened it 
and read : 

Miss Honor Thorn Montgomery. 

Dear Madam : — I thank you for the confidence you 
have reposed in me. Yesterday I sent your manuscript to 
the editor of the Age of Fiction. He may accept it, but I 
am afraid it will not he true kindness for me to give you 
much encouragement. The world to-day is full of people, 
young and old, who wish to write, can write, and do write 
for the press ; consequently editors have a wide field to 
glean in ; they can choose between the good, the better, and 
the best, and naturally they like — and I am sure we cannot 
blame them — to take the best. 

Study, experience, and practice are quite necessary for 
one who wishes to be a successful author. Essays — unless 
written with a diamond-pointed pen — are a little too much 
like dull days. People for the most part do not enjoy dull 
days, and they decline to buy dull essays. Short and good 
stories are always in demand. The most successful story 
writers are usually those who write of real life as they 
have seen and known it. I would advise you to write of 
something you have yourself observed or experienced, and 
while I am advising let me say one word more. Young 
writers are apt to quote freely ; but borrowed thoughts, no 
matter how good they may be, will never crown our own 
heads with laurel. I would recommend you to use quota- 


42 


IN ONE GIEL’S experience. 


tions as a good cook uses cayenne pepper— only on rare 
occasions. Watch the life that goes on around you, observe 
closely, study hard, and practice faithfully ; by these steps, 
and by these steps only, you may climb to the success I 
sincerely wish you. Truly yours, 

K. S. Truman. 

Honor read that letter many times.* At last 
with a heavy heart she carried it to her room, 
and placed it with her rejected manuscript in a 
box that she tied up carefully. 

“ I don’t believe I ever shall have courage to 
look at either of them again,” she said sadly to 
Miss Clark. 

‘‘Well, you’ve learned a lesson,” Miss Clark 
said wisely, “ an’ in the end it will do you good. 
And I think you ought to be very grateful to 
that Dr. Truman, Honor. He put himself to a 
good deal of trouble for you ; and I must say, 
it seems to me pretty presumptuous for people, 
who are just trying to write and ain’t got no 
reputation, to ask busy men, who have made 
their names and reputations by hard work, to 
help ’em to get started.” 

Honor colored painfully. “ Oh,” she said in 
a regretful voice, “ I never thought of that. 
Well,” she continued in a moment, “ I am very 
grateful to Dr. Truman, but his letter makes me 
think of the hand of iron in the glove of velvet, 
for kind as it sounds I can read between the 


PEN AND PAPER. 


43 


lines, and I know he thought me ignorant, 
and conceited, and my essay crude and ordi- 
nary.” 

“That’s likely enough,” Miss Clark said 
coolly. “ But, Honor,” she hastened to add, as 
she saw Honor’s troubled face, “ I do believe 
that when people find out that they are ignorant 
they are really beginning to grow wise ; and I 
don’t believe this failure will hurt you, for I 
have always noticed that the people who per- 
severe through difiBculties are the ones who suc- 
ceed.” 

Honor’s smile looked like a pale sunbeam lost 
among rain clouds. “ I never expect now to 
succeed as a writer,” she said, “ I am too dis- 
couraged ever to try again.” 

“Hum,” Miss Clark answered, “I’ve heard 
discouraged people talk before to-day, Honor, 
and I’ll just tell you, for your comfort, that it’s 
my opinion, if there really is a book in your 
head, that it will get written some day. You 
know whenever there is a live chicken in an egg 
it’s pretty sure to break the shell. But I 
believe,” Miss Clark continued soberly, “ I 
believe for the present. Honor, it will be to your 
advantage to leave that book in your head. 
You know there are changes before you an’ me, 
an’ you ain’t no readier for ’em than you was 
ten days ago. You have tried your own plan. 


44 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


an’ you have found that it won’t work. Now, 
though I ain’t no preacher, I’ll just tell you — ” 
and Miss Clark’s voice was slow and reverent 

A 

now — “ that if I was you, I’d try to find out 
God’s plan for me ; and if he wanted me to 
make bread, instead of books, why I’d just try 
to make the bread.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


SCHOOL AND SHOP. 

“We are children still, 

Wayward and wistful ; with one hand we cling, 

To the familiar things we call our own, 

And with the other, resolute of will. 

Grope in the dark for what the day will bring.*’ 

— Longfellmo. 

pOR several days after the return of her 
manuscript, Honor seemed listless and 
strangely indifferent to all that was transpiring 
about her. There was plenty of bustle and 
confusion in the house now. Squire Skinner 
was there frequently, and Miss Clark was busy 
from morning till night, packing and making 
preparations for her own speedy departure. 
Kind neighbors called to sympathize with the 
orphaned girl, and went away wondering what 
would become of her, and still Honor wandered 
aimlessly from room to room in her old home, 
and looked with tearful eyes at all she was soon 
to part with, and found it as impossible, as in 
the beginning of her trouble, to decide upon her 
future course. 

She thought and prayed much during those 

( 45 ) 


46 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


sad days, but still the way before her looked 
very dark. No good fairy came with offers of 
assistance, and no work that she could think 
of seemed feasible or possible. Squire Skinner 
was impatient to secure his own interests ; it 
was well-understood now that when all her 
father’s debts were paid there would be abso- 
lutely nothing left for Honor ; the few dollars 
in her purse were slowly dwindling away, and 
it was imperatively necessary for her to exert 
herself, and endeavor to find work and a home 
elsewhere. With the dawn of each new day 
Mi^s Clark’s question, What will you do next? 
pressed more urgently for an answer; and 
still Honor was as incapable as ever of giving 
it one. 

But this state of affairs could not last. We 
cannot, even if we would, remain undecided 
as to our course in this world long. Necessity 
lays her constraining hand upon us and sternly 
says, “ Go forward ; ” and whether our way 
leads over rugged mountains, or through green 
and restful valleys, forward we must go. 

Slowly but surely this imperative necessity 
roused Honor from her mournful dreams ; and 
one bright morning, after a night passed in 
anxious thought, she arose with her mind fully 
decided as to the first step she would take. It 
was still very early. She dressed herself for a 


SCHOOL AND SHOP. 


47 


journey, packed her traveling bag, knelt for a 
few moments, and committed herself to the care 
of her Father in heaven, and then went to Miss 
Clark’s room. Her light tap on the door effect- 
ually aroused Miss Clark from her last morn- 
ing nap, and opening her eyes she looked won- 
deringly at Honor. 

« Why, child,” she exclaimed, “ what is the 
matter ? Why have you got your hat on ; where 
are you going ? ” 

“ I am going to the city,” Honor answered 
with much composure. 

If Honor had said she was going up in a bal- 
loon Miss Clark could not have looked more 
surprised. 

“ To the city,” she echoed, “ Honor, have you 
lost your reason, what are you going to do in 
the city?” 

“ Follow the example of Whittington, and 
seek my fortune,” Honor replied quietly. 

Miss Clark was already up and nearly dressed. 
She did not answer Honor at once, but in a 
minute, while with unusual energy she thrust 
the hair-pins through her still thick braids, she 
said, in the tone of one presenting an unan- 
swerable argument, “ Whittington was a man, 
and he had a cat.” 

“ Yes ma’am,” Honor replied, “ and I am a 
woman, and I have common sense.” 


48 m ONE girl’s experience. 

Miss Clark stopped in her hair dressing, and 
looked at the girl with eyes that denoted great 
dissatisfaction. 

“ No, you are not a woman,” she said with 
decision. “ You are nothing but a young and 
ignorant girl, and you are about as fit to go to 
the city in search of your fortune, as a baby 
that never has stood on its feet is to walk a 
mile.” 

“ I do not think so — ” Honor began ; but Miss 
Clark stopped her. 

“ Honor,” she said emphatically, “ it is use- 
less for us to argue ; but if, as you say, you 
really have got common sense you will just take 
off that hat, an’ stay at home. I have lived 
longer than you, an’ I have had more experience, 
and I know that the nearer a young girl keeps 
to the smoke of her own chimney the safer 
she is.” 

“ Yes,” Honor admitted, with a little note of 
sadness in her voice, ‘‘ that is true, Miss Clark, 
when she has a chimney to stay by. But you 
must remember that I have no home now, and 
so I have no choice ; I must do something to 
support myself.” 

I guess I don’t need to have you tell me 
that,” Miss Clark said with a toss of her head. 
“ Ain’t I been trying for weeks to make you 
realize your situation? I know your circum- 


SCHOOL AND SHOP. 


49 


stances just as well as I know my own. But 
circumstances ain’t meant to be stumbling 
blocks, and they never will be when we don’t 
hinder Providence. Now do you just make up 
your mind to stay here in Broadfields, an’ find 
something to do among the neighbors who have 
known you all your life. Folks who saw you 
first in your cradle, an’ who have seen you 
almost every day since you were out of it, care 
a good deal more for you than the strangers 
will care who never saw you before to-day.” 

There was a tremor in Honor’s voice, and 
though she tried to do so, it was difficult for her 
to force a smile. “ Please do not try to discour- 
age me. Miss Clark,” she pleaded. “ I am not 
very brave, and I need all my courage now. I 
do not want to act foolishly, but if you will 
think a moment you will see that I must go. 
What can I do here ?” 

“ What ? ” Miss Clark surveyed Honor from 
the flower on her hat to the hem of her dress. 
“Well, it is true,” she confessed reluctantly 
after-a second’s thought ; “ I do not know what 
you can do here in Broadfields, Honor, or I am 
sure I would have told you before this morning. 
The fact is, you don’t seem to fit in nowhere.” 
Miss Clarl: had received a plain, district school 
educationj and when she took liberties with her 
grammar, and indulged in the use of “ double 

4 


50 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

negatives,” she did so — as she sometimes con- 
descended to explain — ‘‘ because, in her opin- 
ion, if two negatives didn’t add to the sense, 
they did add to the emphasis.” 

She left Honor now to consider her unfortu- 
nate want of adaptability, while she turned to 
her glass and hurriedly pinned on a collar. ‘‘ It 
does appear to me,” she remarked when that 
was done, “ as if some folks were just fit for 
nothing but to be put down in gardens, and fed 
on rose leaves and honey.” 

W ell,” Honor said with a praiseworthy effort 
to be cheerful, if ambrosial food is what I need, 
one thing is sure, I shall never find it here, and 
so it is the more necessary for me to go where 
gardens are more numerous. And now, Miss 
Clark, if you will give me a cup of coffee before 
I go, I shall be very grateful.” 

Child, there is nothing good, that I would 
not give you if I could,” Miss Clark answered: 
and in the strength of the coffee that she quickly 
prepared and brought to Honor, she tried to find 
compensation for all the good things she could 
not bestow on her. 

‘‘ When will you be back ? ” Miss Clark asked 
at the last moment, as she stood with Honor on 
the door-step. 

“ To-night, I hope, by the last train,” Honor 
answered; ‘‘ but if I am not, don’t worry about 


SCHOOL AND SHOP. 


51 


me. I feel like one of God’s little sparrows. 
He takes care of them, you know, and so you 
must believe that he will watch over me.” 

It was not often that Miss Clark suffered her 
deepest feelings to find expression in words ; 
and the occasions were rare indeed when her 
reverence for the Bible allowed her to quote it 
in her every-day life. But as she stood on the 
old door-step that sweet summer morning, and 
looked at the fair young face that was just going 
from her, a sudden and tender impulse caused 
her to whisper, as she kissed Honor good-bye, 

“ ‘He shall give his angels charge over thee, 
to keep thee in all thy ways.’ And Honor,” 
she added with loving emphasis, “ I believe he 
will.” 

Do we sometimes speak under a momentary 
inspiration ? And did some good angel prompt 
Miss Clark just then to whisper these words ? 

So, in her friendless state, it seemed to Honor 
that morning, and through all her long and 
lonely ride to the city, the memory of that ten- 
der promise cheered and sustained her. 

It was not quite ten when she reached the 
city. She had not left home to drift aimlessly 
through the busy streets ; she had a definite 
purpose in her mind, and with as little delay as 
possible she found her way to the School Agency 
of which the day before she had read an adver- 


52 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

tisement in one of the daily papers. It was 
true that she did not feel well qualified to teach ; 
but stern necessity gave her no choice of employ- 
ments, and if she could obtain a situation in a 
school she hoped by faithful study out of school- 
hours to correct all her deficiencies. Let her 
once reach the Agency and she trusted that all 
her troubles would soon be happily settled. 
But she was speedily undeceived. 

The gentlemanly manager of the Agency re- 
ceived her politely, offered her a paper prepared 
for applicants, and requested her to state in it 
her name, age, residence, where she was edu- 
cated, church connections, testimonials, and 
references, and the particular branches she de- 
sired to teach. At the same time he smilingly in- 
formed her that his office fee was three dollars. 

Honor took the paper, and was about to write 
as requested, when a sudden thought occurred 
to her, and she looked up at the manager. 

“ I want a situation immediately,” she said. 

Do you think, if I comply with your require- 
ments, that you can find one for me ? ” 

The manager looked at her critically, curled 
the end of his moustache ; seemed to consider her 
question for a moment, and then said : 

“ The summer is a very poor season for ob- 
taining immediate situations in schools. Later, 
without doubt I can do something for you, espe- 


SCHOOL AND SHOP. 


53 


cially if you are accomplished. Music — French 
— German — drawing — and painting” — he count- 
ed the words off on his fingers as he spoke — 
“ are you proficient in any of these branches ? 
The patrons of boarding-schools,” he added 
wisely, “ think more of such studies, nowadays, 
than they do of the plain English branches.” 

With a gloomy face Honor listened to him, 
and once more the memory of her neglected op- 
portunities came back to sting her with una- 
vailing regrets. 

She had studied music, and she could sing 
sweetly ; but she had never liked to practice, 
and as far as possible she had evaded that 
duty. Now, in her hour of need, she was 
painfully conscious, though large sums had 
been spent on her musical education, that her 
knowledge was too imperfect, and her skill as 
a performer too inferior for her music to be of 
any service to her. But music was not the 
only accomplishment upon which she had 
wasted both time and money. She had taken 
lessons in both drawing and painting, and she 
had drawing-books and port-folios well-filled 
with specimens of poor work ; but shares in an 
imaginary gold mine in the moon would have 
given her as good a support as she could hope 
to earn with either her pencil or brush. French 
and German had been included in her course 


64 


IN ONE GIKL’S experience. 


of study, and she could, without much diffi- 
culty, roughly translate quotations from those 
languages when she came across them in her 
reading. But it was simply impossible for her 
to write a brief letter in either language cor- 
rectly ; and she recalled, with a feeling akin to 
terror, the long pages of perplexing verbs over 
which she had pored through many dreary 
hours, and that were still, as she well knew, 
unmastered. 

No, she could not teach music and the lan- 
guages — not even their rudiments to beginners 
— for she had a conscience, and she felt that if 
she started a child wrong in its studies she 
might do it an irreparable injury. Silently as 
she came to that conclusion Honor placed the 
blank on the table. 

‘‘ I think I will not try to fill it out since 
accomplishments are so necessary,” she said. 
“ But,” and she looked wishfully at the man- 
ager, “ there are the public schools, accomplish- 
ments are surely not so essential in them. 
Could I not obtain a situation as a primary 
teacher in one of them ? ” 

‘‘ Possibly,” the manager answered with a 
shrug of his shoulders, ‘‘ but the public schools 
usually graduate their own teachers, and 
there are numerous applicants for every 
vacancy. 


SCHOOL AND SHOP. 


55 


Obviously Honor could hope for no assist- 
ance from the manager of the School Agency, 
and with much the feeling of a mountain 
climber, who sees strand after strand of the 
rope to which he is clinging break, she left the 
office. She knew that she deserved her failure ; 
even in the first keen pang of disappointment 
she realized that, with her imperfect education, 
she would have been in a false position as a 
teacher. But to know that we have only our- 
selves to blame for our failures is at all times 
a sorrowful comfort, and now Honor felt almost 
crushed by her disappointment. 

Again Miss Clark’s question. What will you 
do next ? rang in her ears ; and once more she 
said hopelessly to herself, I do not know. She 
had come to the city for the single purpose of 
visiting the School Agency, and now, in utter 
doubt and bewilderment, after walking a few 
steps she stopped at the corner of the street, 
and looked helplessly about her. Rapidly the 
everchanging stream of life flowed past her: 
richly dressed women, who might have learned 
the meaning of that hard word want from 
their dictionaries, but never from actual expe- 
rience, beautiful children — who looked like 
flowers even this stern world would love to 
cherish — and men — strong, earnest, and self- 
reliant — all with preoccupied minds, intent on 


66 IN ONE gtrt/s experience. 

business or pleasure, hurried by her, and left 
her standing there sorrowful and alone. 

A great crowd, as some one has said, seems 
to have no heart ; and as she glanced from one 
strange face to another. Honor bitterly thought 
that even in the Sahara she could scarcely feel 
lonelier than in that thronged and fashionable 
street. It seemed no place for her, and sadly 
comparing herself to “Poor Joe,” she was 
about to “move on,” when her steps were 
arrested by a card hanging in the store window 
just before her : 

“ Wanted a shop-girl.” 

For a few moments Honor stood as if spell- 
bound and gazed at that card. It seemed to 
offer her work of which she had never dreamed. 
Should she — could she — she asked herself — go 
in and apply for that situation ? She knew 
little about a shop-girl’s duties, but she always 
had considered herself, in education and posi- 
tion, far above the shop-girls she had seen in 
her shopping excursions. There was a short 
and sharp struggle with the pride of which she 
had her full share ; but with an almost fierce 
exertion of lier will she conquered her reluct- 
ance, pushed open the noiseless swinging door, 
and entered the beautiful store. A few words 
explained her errand to a clerk near the door, 
and a few steps carried her to the private and 


SCHOOL AND SHOP. 


57 


luxurious ofiSce where the two proprietors of 
the store were sitting together. 

One of them, a large and consequential look- 
ing man, turned at her entrance and gave her 
a sharp and critical stare. 

With much difficulty Honor managed to make 
known her errand. 

“ The shop-girl — did they still want one ? — 
she would be glad if they would try her.’’ 

“ Have you had any experience ? ” demanded 
the large gentleman. 

“ No, none,” Honor answered. 

A low sound, like a suppressed whistle, was 
the first reply she received to that confession, 
but the second gentleman — a gray-haired man 
whose face Honor thought very pleasant — re- 
marked quietly, “Want of experience is not an 
insurmountable objection.” 

Honor felt the difference in the manners of 
her two examiners, but she waited in silence 
for the next question. It was short and blunt. 

“ City or country ? ” 

“ Country,” Honor replied meekly. 

“ Hum,” the large gentleman said, in a tone 
that Honor felt denoted disapproval, while he 
gave her another critical and leisurely survey. 
Then he started up suddenly, and pulled out 
his watch. 

“I declare, I had quite forgotten,” he ex- 


68 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

claimed. “ I ought to be at the bank now ; the 
directors meet at twelve. Here, Winthrop, 
you must take charge of this matter ; I will 
abide by your decision.” And grasping his 
hat the consequential man of business hur- 
ried off, and Honor was left alone with his 
partner. 

“Be seated, if you please,” Mr. Winthrop 
said kindly — for Honor had remained standing 
during the large gentleman’s examination — and 
as she took the chair he offered her, he asked : 
“ Do you know anything about this work ? I 
mean,” he hastened to explain, as he saw that 
Honor did not understand his question, “ do 
you know anything about the annoying and dis- 
agreeable experiences you may — ” he paused a 
second and then with firm emphasis added — 
“ will have to endure behind a counter as a shop- 
girl.” 

The color rushed to Honor’s face. “ No,” 
she said with some difficulty, “ I do not know 
anything about them. But” — and in spite of 
her efforts to be calm her voice trembled sadly 
— “I would try to endure them, for I must do 
something to support mj^self.” 

“ Have you parents or friends in this city, 
with whom you would have a pleasant and safe 
home?” Mr. Winthrop asked now. 

“No,” Honor answered, “I should board.” 


SCHOOL AND SHOP. 


69 


Mr. Winthrop looked at her thoughtfully for 
a moment, and then he said : 

“ You are from the country. Have you any 
knowledge of what city life — I mean the city 
life of a shop-ffirl in a poor boarding house — 
must be?’’ 

Once more Honor’s trembling lips answered, 
“ No.” 

“ There are many beautiful things to be seen 
and enjoyed in the city,” Mr. Winthrop said 
quietly, and, for those who have leisure to 
profit by them, there are almost inestimable 
advantages. I would not underrate them, but 
neither would I underrate the dangers — ” he 
stopped and once more looked closely at Honor, 
and then asked : 

“ Is it absolutely necessary for you to leave 
your home in the country? ” 

Honor looked at him with eyes whose truth- 
fulness he could not doubt. 

“ I do not know of anything I can do in the 
country place where I have always lived,” she 
explained simply, “ and it is very necessary for 
me to do something to support myself, for I am 
an orphan and I have no home.” 

Poor child, trembled on Mr. Winthrop’s lips, 
but he only said, “ Can you not teach ; have 
you tried to find a situation in some school? ” 

“ Yes,” Honor answered sadly, “ I have just 


60 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

been to the School Agency, but they could not do 
anything for me there. I am not accomplished 
enough.” 

Mr. Winthrop smiled a little at that innocent 
and unexpected admission. “ Teachers are 
sometimes wanted for the plain English 
branches, as well as for accomplishments,” 
he said kindly. “ May I ask where you were 
educated ? ” 

‘‘ At Cedar Grove Seminary in Lexington,” 
Honor said. ‘‘ I graduated from that school. 
But I feel now,” she humbly confessed, ‘‘that I 
ought not to teach, for I am only ‘smattered.’ 
I know nothing thoroughly.” 

Perhaps -Mr. Winthrop was a little surprised 
by that frank admission, but with his knowl- 
edge of young ladies’ schools he did not doubt 
it. “You are right,” he said gravely, “never 
wrong others by attempting to teach what you 
do not know yourself. But you are young,” 
he added kindly, “ and with a little faithful 
study you can probably soon perfect yourself 
in the studies you are conscious of being defi- 
cient in.” 

Honor’s face and voice were both very** sad as 
she answered, “ I wish I could study now, but 
I cannot, I must work.” 

“ Are you thrown entirely upon your own 
resources for support?” Mr. Winthrop asked. 


SCHOOL AND SHOP. 


61 


“ Have you no friends nor relations able and 
willing to help you now? ” 

“None that I know of,” Honor said. “ My 
parents were both only children ; if I have any 
relations they are very distant ones, and I do 
not even know their names.” 

Honor’s sad story interested Mr. Winthrop, 
but without expressing any sympathy, in a 
cool and deliberate voice he said : 

“You are a stranger in this city, and you 
have no friends here. Now, I wull be frank 
with you and tell you, that with my knowledge 
of the world, before I would advise you to take 
a situation as a shop-girl, in this or any other 
store, I would say take what might be thought 
by many a much humbler position. Take — 
if necessary — a servant’s place in a Christian 
family.” 

For a few moments Honor looked doubtful. 
Her pride rebelled at that humble word, serv- 
ant. All her life she had been served ; it was 
not pleasant now to think of serving others in 
the lowly capacity of a housemaid. While she 
struggled with her pride Mr. Winthrop watched 
her. He was a close observer, and he wondered 
a little sadly, if, in spite of the germs of a 
beautiful character that he thought- he had dis- 
covered in her, she would prove after all only 
one of the great multitude, who choose shams 


62 m ONE girl’s experience. 

before realities, and care more for what they 
seem to be than for what they really are. 

His doubts were soon dispelled ; into Honor’s 
troubled mind two little thoughts stole silently, 
and finding welcome, clothed her in the beauti- 
ful grace of humility. 

He made himself of no reputation, and took 
upon him the form of a servant,” whispered 
one of the angels who had charge over her that 
day ; “ The disciple is not above his master,” 
gently added another of the bright messen- 
gers, and with all her noblest impulses quick- 
ened by these words. Honor looked at Mr. Win- 
throp, and said with a child’s frankness, 
“I had not thought of a servant’s place before, 
but perhaps that would be the best place for 
me, and I will take it, if — ” she added with 
a sincere humility that acknowledged and 
regretted her incompetence — “ if I know enough 
about housework to be capable of filling such 
a place.” 

Mr. Winthrop’s eyes rested for a moment on 
the small and prettily gloved hands that were 
quietly ’ folded in Honor’s lap, and then he 
said : 

“ When I spoke of a servant’s place I said, 
take it if necessary. I did not mean that you 
should take such a place at once, without first 
trying to find some other work for which you 


SCHOOL AND SHOP. 


63 


may be better adapted. I believe in service,” 
Mr. Winthrop continued earnestly, “ I know 
of no more royal motto for a Christian man or 
woman than that old kingly one, Ich dien — I 
serve. But at the same time, I also believe 
that the work of God’s servants should be 
apportioned, like their talents, according to 
their several abilities. In my opinion the work 
one is best fitted for, is the work one should 
seek to do.” 

“If only,” Honor said in a sober little 
parenthesis, “ one can tell for what one is best 
fitted.” 

“Ay, there’s the rub,” Mr. Winthrop said 
with a smile, that was quickly followed by a 
very grave look. He did not speak again for 
several moments, and then he said, “ I would 
like your name and references.” 

Honor gave her name, but then in evident 
embarrassment, she stopped. 

“ And your references,” Mr. Winthrop in- 
sisted. 

“ I am afraid I haven’t any,” Honor said with 
undisguised trouble in both her face and voice. 
“ I forgot that they would be necessary. I don’t 
know anybody in this city only ” 

“ W ell, only whom ? ” Mr. W inthrop demanded 
a little sternly. 

“An old lady, and I don’t know her very 


64 IN ONE gibl's expebience. 

well,” Honor hesitatingly explained, “ but last 
summer, a year ago, when she was boarding in 
Broadfields she was thrown from her carriage 
and injured severely. Ours was the nearest 
house, so she was brought there and she stayed 
with us some days. Would she do for a 
reference?” and Honor waited anxiously for 
Mr. Winthrop’s answer. 

“ Give me her name,” he said. 

“ Mrs. Charles Everett, 315 Lincoln Square.” 

Mr. Winthrop nodded in a satisfied manner. 
“Do you intend calling on her to-day?” he 
asked. 

Once more Honor looked troubled. Mrs. 
Everett had impressed her as being a very proud 
woman, and Honor’s own intense pride shrank 
from making an appeal for help that she fancied, 
might be called begging. 

“ Is it necessary for me to call on her ? ” she 
asked anxiously. 

“ Do you mean because you have referred me 
to her? ” Mr. Winthrop asked. “No, you need 
not feel obliged to call for that reason. I know 
Mrs. Everett and will see her myself. Can 
you call here to-morrow morning at ten 
o’clock ? ” 

“Yes,” Honor answered, and feeling that the 
interview .was over she arose. But as he 
looked at her, her youth and inexperience 


SCHOOL AND SHOP. 


65 


prompted Mr. Winthrop to ask quickly, “ And 
in the meantime what will you do with your- 
self. Where will you spend the night ? ” 

“ I wanted to go home on the evening train,” 
Honor answered, ‘‘but since it is best for me to 
remain in the city, I will go to the Union Hotel. 
My father always v/ent there,” she added with 
childlike candor. 

“ But that great hotel will be a lonely and 
unsuitable place for you,” Mr. Winthrop said 
with a thrill of pity. “ Let me direct you to a 

safer place for a young girl. Here ” and 

he took a card from his desk and wrote a few 
words on it — “ take this to the matron of the 
Working Girls’ Home, 49 Bancroft street. She 
will take good care of you.” 

Honor took the tiny slip of pasteboard, and 
with a relieved and grateful heart she left the 
store. She did not think it necessary to con- 
tinue her search for work, for though it was 
evident that Mr. Winthrop did not intend to 
accepLher as a shop-girl, she felt very confident 
that in some way he designed to help her. She 
had nothing to do now but wait patiently for 
the next morning, and feeling tired as well as 
relieved, she gladly turned her steps toward 
the Working Girls’ Home. 

The matron, a pleasant-mannered and motherly 
woman, received her kindly. Mr. Winthrop’s 
6 


66 


IN ONE GIEL’s EXPEEIENCE. 


card was an all-snfficient introduction; and 
Honor was soon resting in a little room, that, 
though simple enough for a nun, was at the 
same time neat and clean enough for a queen. 


CHAPTER V. 


LAMPS AND CANDY. 

Many a hopeless matter doth God arrange ; 

What I expected never came to pass ; 

What I did not expect God brought to hear, 

So hath it been my whole experience through.” 

— Robert Browning. 

TTONOR counted the very minutes the next 
morning, in her anxiety to be punctual in 
keeping her appointment with Mr. Winthrop 
and promptly at ten she was at the store. Her 
confidence in Mr. Winthrop had been strength- 
ened by the -matron of the Home, who had 
told her many stories of his kindness and gen- 
erosity. She firmly believed that her interview 
with him would end her anxious quest for 
work. Somewhere, if not in his store, he 
would find a place for her. Buoyed up with 
this glad hope, the girl walked through the 
crowded store and knocked on the office door. 
It was opened by a clerk who was just passing 
out. 

“ Can I see Mr. Winthrop ? ” Honor asked. 

He isn’t in, but Mr. Owen is. Step in if 
you please.” 


( 67 ) 


68 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

With a thrill of disappointment Honor en- 
tered the office, and found herself in the pres- 
ence of the gentleman who had impressed her 
so disagreeably the day before. 

He looked up at her with an expression in 
his face that seemed to Honor to say, What, 
are you here again? and dreading an inter- 
view with him, as much as she desired one with 
his partner, she stood near the door, and asked 
timidly, “ Can I see Mr. Winthrop ? ” 

Impossible,” was the prompt answer. “ Mr, 
Winthrop is on his way to Chicago.” 

In her susprise and dismay Honor looked 
helplessly at Mr. Owen for a minute. Then 
she found strength to say, ‘^But Mr. Winthrop 
told me to call this morning.” 

‘‘Very likely, and he may have told a dozen 
other people to call, for he had no idea yester- 
day of going away.” 

“Will he return soon?” Honor asked tremu- 
lously. 

“ I cannot say. He was telegraphed for last 
night ; his son is very ill ; under such circum- 
stances it is impossible for me to name the day 
of his return.” 

While he was speaking, Mr. Owen was at 
the same time opening letters. Now he threw 
several into the waste-basket, and with a number 
in his hand looked with some curiosity as well 


LAMPS AND CANDY. 


69 


as impatience at Honor, who uncertain what to 
do still stood by the door. 

“ You were here yesterday, weren’t you ? ” 
he asked, did Mr. Winthrop promise you a 
place here in this store ? ” 

“No,” Honor managed to say. 

Mr. Owen’s face expressed his satisfaction. 

“ Do you want anything of me ? ” he asked 
in a quick voice. 

“No,” Honor said faintly again. 

“Very well, then, good morning,” and Mr. 
Owen placed an open letter before him on his 
desk and took up a pen. 

Honor felt that she was dismissed, and with 
a face as sad as a few minutes before it had 
been bright and hopeful, she turned and walked 
slowly out. 

In Honor’s young life, until within the last 
few weeks, there had been no trials ; and only 
once before, when her manuscript was returned 
to her, had she felt as she did at that moment. 
The disappointment was so unlooked for, and 
so complete, that she was stunned. Slowly she 
crossed the street, entered a little park, and sat 
down on a bench. 

What should she do next ? Return to Broad- 
fields with her future as undecided as when she 
left there? She could not do that; for even 
Broadfields would not be her home much longer. 


70 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

Suddenly while she brooded over her trouble 
she remembered Mrs. Everett. She had shrank 
, from appealing to her, but now in her friendless 
and almost destitute condition, she felt that 
her pride was a luxury she could no longer afford 
to indulge. She knew that Mrs. Everett was 
an influential lady. Mr. Winthrop had said he 
knew her ; possibly he had already seen her, and 
related her story. Anyway if she called on her 
now she might be able to help her. As that 
hope dawned in her heart Honor started up. A 
policeman stood near, and she asked to be 
directed the shortest way to 315 Lincoln 
Square. 

‘‘Cross the park, turn to your right, and walk 
six blocks,” the policeman answered. And 
Honor followed his directions. 

Since she left the “ Home ” it had grown very 
cloudy, and as she went up the brown-ston^ 
steps of the beautiful mansion, whose door-plate 
bore Mrs. Everett’s name, it began to rain. 

Honor looked ruefully at the black clouds and 
falling drops, and then, with an intense longing 
to see a friendly face and hear a kind voice, she 
rang the bell. 

“ Is Mrs. Everett in ? ” she asked of the col- 
ored waiter who opened the door. 

“ Mrs. Everett left this morning for the coun- 
try,” was the concise answer. 


LAMPS AND CANDY. 


71 


With difficulty Honor conquered the choking 
sensation in her throat. 

“Will you tell me where she has gone ?” she 
asked, with a faint hope that the answer would 
be Broadfields. 

“ To Saratoga.” 

With despair in her face and heart, Honor 
turned and slowly descended the steps. It was 
raining hard now, but she scarcely knew it. Her 
last resource had failed her. In all that great 
city she did not know of another soul to whom 
she could appeal for help. She must go back 
to Broadfields ; there was nothing else for her 
to do. As she came to this decision she glanced 
at her little watch. It was only half-past eleven, 
and the afternoon train for Broadfields did not 
go out until four. Soberly Honor counted the 
hours between, four and a half, and the rain was 
falling in the steady way that so surely denotes 
a rainy day. 

She had left her traveling bag at the “ Home,” 
and now there seemed nothing for her to do but 
to return there, and spend under the matron’s 
care the weary hours that must pass before she 
could leave the city. 

With a downcast and troubled face, very un- 
like the smiling one with which she had left it 
but two hours before, Honor entered the ma- 
tron’s little parlor. 


72 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“ Well, have you had a successful call ? ” the 
good woman asked, kindly. 

Honor dropped down into a chair, and the 
tears she had hitherto controlled filled her eyes. 

“ O, Mrs. Morgan,” she said, pitifully, “I am 
so disappointed.” 

Kind Mrs. Morgan was used to dealing with 
disappointed and discouraged girls. 

“ Tell me all about it,” she said, with ready 
sympathy. And as well as she could, through 
the tears that like the rain without now fell 
thick and fast. Honor told her sad story. “ I 
felt so sure this morning that Mr. Winthrop 
would help me,” she sobbed in conclusion, ‘‘ and 
now I am utterly discouraged.” 

“ And you can’t think of anything to do 
now ? ” Mrs. Morgan asked gently. 

“ No, there is nothing for me to do, except to 
go back to Broadfields and starve there,” Honor 
said, bitterly. 

“ Hush, don’t say that. Take off your hat 
and lie down on the lounge and rest. You are 
tired now, and dark things look darker still 
when we are weary. There now,” Mrs. Morgan 
said, after she had seen Honor’s head placed 
comfortably on the sofa pillow, “ now do you 
lie still until I come back. The ladies who 
manage the ^ Home ’ are here to-day, and I 
must go and see them.” 


LAMPS AND CANDY. 


73 


Honor was glad to obey Mrs. Morgan and lie 
still, for her head was aching as well as her 
heart. She clasped her hands over her head, 
closed her eyes, and tried to banish and forget 
painful thoughts ; but her mind was too bur- 
dened to allow her to rest. The anxious ques- 
tion — so many troubled hearts, in this world of 
changes, are daily asking. What shall I do ? 
kept pressing for an answer, and at last, with a 
despairing cry, she slipped from the lounge, and 
kneeling beside it, buried her face in the pillow. 

She could not pray ; in her repeated disap- 
pointments she had lost faith as well as courage ; 
and to her — as so often to troubled and de- 
spondent souls — heaven seemed just then very 
far away, and God indifferent to her bitter 
need. 

Tears, the saddest she had shed since her 
father’s death, flowed freely for awhile ; and 
when they ceased she still remained kneeling 
beside the lounge, too absorbed in her sorrow- 
ful thoughts to notice the opening of the door, 
or to hear the gentle step that crossed the floor 
and stopped beside her. The touch of a soft 
hand on her hair startled her; she lifted her 
head and looked up into a pair of eyes that 
were beautiful with sympathy and womanly 
feeling. 

“ My poor child,” said a low sweet voice. 


74 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“ what does this mean ? you are in trouble, can 
I help you? ” 

Honor had staggered to her feet, and now 
showed the sweet looking woman who was 
watching her, a sad young face, with tear- 
swollen eyes, and sensitive trembling lips. 

“ What does it mean ? What is the matter ? ” 
the lady asked again. 

Honor tried to smile, but a long sobbing sigh 
came instead. 

‘‘ Oh, I am in so much trouble,” she gasped. 

Sit down,” the lady said with gentle firm- 
ness ; and laying her hand on Honor’s arm she 
drew her down to a seat beside her on the sofa. 

‘‘ Now let us have a little talk together,” she 
said kindly. You are Honor Montgomery, 
aren’t you?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Honor answered, while she 
wondered how the lady knew her name. 

“ I thought so. I have just seen the matron, 
Mrs. Morgan. I am Mrs. Stanley. I am here 
to-day with the Ladies’ Committee. Now, that 
we know each other, my dear, let us talk 
together like friends. Mrs. Morgan told me 
that you were an orphan, and came to the city 
yesterday looking for some employment, and 
had been disappointed in your search. Is that 
true ? ” 

“ Too true,” Honor said faintly. 


LAMPS AND CANDY. 


75 


With a hand that was almost motherly in its 
gentleness, Mrs. Stanley drew back a lock of 
hair that had fallen over Honor’s face, and as 
she did so she asked : 

“Why did you leave the country, where 
there is so much room, and come to this over- 
crowded city ? ” 

“ I had to leave my home ; I could find noth- 
ing to do there, and I must work or starve, for 
I have no money.” And once more Honor’s 
eyes grew misty. 

“ Don’t cry,” Mrs. Stanley said, gravely. 
“ You must be calm and answer my questions. 
I want to help you if I can. Tell me what you 
have tried to do ? ” 

With her mind full of her great disappoint- 
ments Honor replied sadly, “ First, I tried to 
write.” 

“Write what?” Mrs. Stanley asked in sur- 
prise. 

“ An essay for a magazine,” Honor answered, 
in a humble voice. 

Mrs. Stanley looked at her now with curious 
as well as interested eyes. She remembered 
the literary ambitions of her own girlhood, and 
the sympathy that sprang from the memory of 
a like experience touched her voice, as she 
asked, “ Why did you fail? ” 

“ Because I had to,” Honor said soberly. 


76 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“I could not write anything original. I could 
only say what others had already said better.” 

Mrs. Stanley laid her own firm and beautiful 
hand on Honor’s trembling one, and said 
gently, “ Never mind ; quotations come easily to 
the young when they have read much and ex- 
perienced little. Some day, perhaps, you will 
try again and succeed better. But what else 
have you tried to do ? ” 

“ I haven’t really tried to do anything else,” 
Honor answered, ‘‘ but I thought of teaching ; 
I went to the School Agency yesterday.” 

“ And what prevented your succeeding 
there ? ” Mrs. Stanley asked in a quiet but 
interested voice. 

‘‘My own ignorance,” Honor confessed, with 
a sob. “ I am only smattered and superficial. 
I don’t know anything well.” 

Mrs. Stanley had not been for years Presi- 
dent of the Young Woman’s Christian Asso- 
ciation of that large city without learning 
many sad facts about the superficial education 
of women. Honor’s acknowledgment did not 
surprise her. She only said, “Yes, I under- 
stand,” and went on with her catechism. 

“ What next? ” she asked. 

“ I tried yesterday, after leaving the School 
Agency, to get a situation as a shop-girl in 
Winthrop & Owen’s store,” Honor replied. 


LAMPS AND CANDY. 


77 


“ And failed again ; why ? ” 

‘^Mr. Winthrop said I was not fitted for the 
situation. He said I had better be a servant 
girl in a Christian family.” And now Honor 
broke down and fairly cried. 

“ Well, why not be a servant ? ” Mrs. Stanley 
asked calmly. 

“ I would be, but I don’t know how to be — 
I don’t know anything useful.” And Honor 
covered her crimson face with her hands as she 
confessed her incompetence. 

“ How long has this been going on ? ” Mrs. 
Stanley asked. “I mean,” she explained, as 
Honor looked up in doubt of her meaning, 
how long have you been seeking work ? ” 

‘‘ Since my father’s death,” Honor sobbed. 
“He died four weeks ago.” 

“ Poor child. Poor child,” Mrs. Stanley said 
with a tender sympathy that endeared her for- 
ever to Honor. “ Are you a Christian ? ” she 
asked gently in a moment. 

“ I want to be,” Honor said with a sigh, “ I 
am trying to be.” 

“ Then you must remember and rest upon the 
precious promise — ‘All things work together 
for good to them that love God.’ You are 
sorely tried just now, but some day you will see 
how all your trials worked for your truest hap- 
piness and good.” 


78 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“ I don’t know — ” Honor said doubtfully. 

“ But I know/’ Mrs. Stanley said with sweet 
insistence ; “ from the outcome of my own trials 
I can foretell the issue of yours, if you do but 
trust and pray. But now I must ask you a few 
more questions. First: What work do you 
want to do ? ” 

“ Anything by which I can support myself,” 
Honor answered. 

“ That is brave and right,” Mrs. Stanley said 
encouragingly, “ but now you must tell me this : 
What one thing do you think yourself best 
fitted to do ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” Honor said with a discour- 
aged sigh, ‘‘ I’m afraid I am not fitted for . any- 
thing useful.” 

In the face of such evident incompetence 
even Mrs. Stanley, used though she was to 
achieving impossibilities, almost, for and with 
helpless girls, felt a little discouraged. But 
after a moment’s thought she said ; 

“Think carefully now. You have always 
lived at home ; isn’t there some one work you 
have been accustomed to do that might be of 
use to you now? Cait you make cake for 
instance ? ” ^ 

“ No. Miss Clark always made the cake,” 
Honor answered. “ But,” she added in a curi- 
ous little voice, “ I can — make — candy.” 


LAMPS AND CANDY. 


79 


“ Candy ? ’’ Mrs. Stanley did not smile, she 
was too sincerely anxious to assist the friend- 
less girl beside her to feel amused at her help- 
lessness. She was silent for a moment, but then 
she said cheerfully : 

“ I am afraid it would not answer for you to 
devote yourself to candy making as a means of 
support, but every thing we know can at times 
be made useful. I am going into the country 
in a few days, and as my little people are 
very fond of candy I always carry a supply 
with me, and I like home-made candy because 
I know it is pure. Now suppose you make me 
a number of pounds, and I will buy it of 
you, instead of going to Holland’s for it, and I 
will pay you his price.” 

In her surprise and joy Honor’s voice was 
almost hysterical as she exclaimed : 

‘^Oh, will you? ” 

“ Yes, I will surely. By the way,” and Mrs. 
Stanley’s smile and voice not only asked but 
won Honor’s confidence. “ You said you had 
no money ; now will you tell me how far that 
is literally true? ” 

Honor’s face flushed, but the eyes into which 
Mrs. Stanley looked were frank and truthful. 
“Papa died poor,” she said softly. “A few 
days before he died he gave me twenty-five dol- 
lars to get some new clothes with. The most 


80 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

of that I have been obliged to spend. I 
have but eight dollars in my purse now, and 
when that is gone I shall have only what I can 
earn.” 

Mrs. Stanley’s sweet face grew sad with sym- 
pathy as she listened to Honor’s simple states 
ment, and for a second her hand sought the 
well-filled purse in her own pocket. But she 
checked her kind but mistaken impulse. “ Pay 
generously for work, but do not destroy the 
self-respect of the poor by treating them as 
beggars,” was her motto, and she obeyed it 
now. 

‘‘ During the next week,” she said, “you may 
make me twenty pounds of candy — I have some 
friends who will be glad to share it with me 
if I do not want it all. You can send it to me 
by express ; I will defray all the charges, and 
give you, as I have already promised, Holland’s 
prices.” 

“ Oh, thank you,” Honor said gratefully, 
“ that money will last a long time.” 

“ Before it is gone we must find a way to 
make more,” Mrs. Stanley said, while she smiled 
with pleasure at the sight of Honor’s innocent 
joy. “ Now I want you to think again. What 
else can you do, that some one might like to 
have you do ? About the house I mean.” 

Honor was silent for a few minutes, and her 


LAMPS AND CANDY. 


81 


face looked thoughtful. “ Oh — ” she exclaimed 
suddenly, and then she stopped. 

“ Well,” Mrs. Stanley said encouragingly. 
“ What does ‘ oh ’ mean ? ” 

“A very little thing,” Honor said ingen- 
uously, “ but papa used to say that it added 
very much to his comfort. I can clean lamps 
well. I know I can do that,” she insisted with 
a childlike delight at having found one thing 
she was really proficient in, “ for they always 
burn brightly, and they never smell nor smoke.” 

“Three very important essentials, as every 
housekeeper knows,” Mrs. Stanley said with 
a smile. She did not speak again for several 
minutes, but she looked seriously at Honor, and 
seemed to be considering some important ques- 
tion in her own mind. Presently, as if she had 
come to a satisfactory decision, her face bright- 
ened. 

“My dear,” she said, “your accomplishment 
is a small one, as you say, but I think I see a 
way in which you can make it useful. I know 
an old lady who has, though she is not an inva- 
lid, a heart affection that makes pure air an 
absolute necessity. She lives in the country, 
and burns oil ; and she complains piteously, 
that her evenings are rendered miserable by 
her lamps. Her servants never attend to them 
properly. They always smoke and smell and 


82 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

she suffers in consequence. Now, my dear, 
this lady is a relation of mine ; she is a good 
woman and you would have a safe home with 
her. You would, of course, have other duties to 
perform, besides just caring for her lamps, but 
you would find nothing required of you that 
you could not do easily if you were patient 
and willing to be directed. My aunt is peculiar 
and sometimes, perhaps, exacting ; but she is 
never intentionally unjust or unkind. Now, if 
she should wish for your services, would you be 
willing to go to her ? ” 

Willing? Honor’s face had answered that 
question, before she found voice to say, “I can- 
not tell you how glad I should be to go to 
her.” 

“ Then I will write to her this afternoon and 
tell her of you, and your accomplishments,” 
Mrs. Stanley said, kindly, “ and as soon as I 
receive her answer I will write to you. In 
the meantime you must make my candy, and 
trust that in some way, though it may be a 
way you do not see to-day, all your trials will 
be made to work together for your truest good. 
And one thing more,” and Mrs. Stanley took 
Honor’s hand tenderly in hers as she spoke 
— “ You say you are trying to be a Christian. 
My child, don’t be content with simply trying 
to be a Christian. Place yourself gladly and 


LAMPS AND CANDY. 


83 


unreservedly in God’s hands and he a Chris- 
tian.*^ 

Honor’s lips trembled and a troubled look 
darkened her eyes “ How can I be such a sure 
Christian ? ” she asked, sadly. 

With tender interest Mrs. Stanley looked at 
the young girl. She knew that unsatisfied 
yearnings and aspirations had prompted her 
timid question, but she also knew that each 
soul must live its own life, and learn its own 
lessons ; and so, taught by her own rich Chris- 
tian experience, she answered, gently, 

“ Ask God and let him teach you.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


WHY MUST IT BE? 

“ Blindfolded and alone I stand 
With unknown thresholds on each hand ; 

The darkness deepens as I grope, 

Afraid to fear, afraid to hope ; 

Yet this one thing I learn to know. 

Each day more surely as I go, 

That doors are opened, ways are made. 

Burdens are lifted, or are laid, 

By some great law unseen and still 
Unfathomed purpose to fulfill, 

‘ Not as I will.' " 

— Helen Hunt Jackson, 

JT was with the glad sense of relief, that 
always follows a hard task attempted and 
accomplished, that Honor returned that night 
to Broadfields. Her naturally hopeful nature 
had quite recovered from the disappointment 
that at first had seemed so heavy. She felt 
very sure of Mrs. Stanley’s assistance ; she 
did not doubt the success of that lady’s plan 
for her, and the anxious cares that had so long 
oppressed her seemed already only memories 
of a troubled past. 

She greeted Miss Clark with a bright face, 

( 84 ) 


WHY MUST IT BE? 


86 


and there was a ring of true joy in her voice 
as she said, as she took her seat at the tea-table, 
“ Oh you don’t know how glad I am to be home 
again.” 

“Hu — m,” Miss Clark answered, as she 
placed the tea-pot on the table and seated her- 
self behind it. “ Have you come home to stay 
long?” 

“ No,” Honor replied, while her bright face 
sobered a little, “ if my plans work well my stay 
here will be very short.” 

“ So you ain’t got nothing more certain than 
plans to tell about,” Miss Clark exclaimed in 
evident disappointment. “ Well, I didn’t think 
very much of your going to the city. Honor. 
It was my opinion that you might just as well 
go looking for will-o’-the-wisps as for work; 
and yet, since you would go, I did hope some- 
thing more would come of it than just plans.” 

“Well,” Honor said in a satisfied voice, 
“ something more has come of it.” 

“Sure?” Miss Clark asked. “Well, if you 
have really got certainties instead of plans, 
why don’t you tell me* what they are ? ” 

“ Because you don’t give me a chance to tell 
you,” Honor said playfully. “ But now, if 
you will listen, I will tell you in a few words 
what I expect to do. In the first place I am 
going to make twenty pounds of candy here in 


86 


IN ONE GIBL’S experience. 


this house. I shall begin making it to-morrow, 
and I am to be well paid for it. That is sure, 
Miss Clark. In the second place — this is only 
a plan but I am sure it will become a certainty 
— I expect to go to Pennock Manor to live 
with a Mrs. Pennock. She is an old lady, and 
I am going to clean her lamps, and do — well, I 
don’t know what else, but I suppose there will 
be plenty of odds and ends for me to attend 
to. Now, Miss Clark, won’t you congratulate 
me ? ” 

Miss Clark raised her tea-cup to her lips, 
drained it, and replaced it in her saucer. Then 
she sat back in her chair, folded her arms, and 
looked at Honor with a face that was very far 
from promising congratulations. 

Candy making and lamp cleaning,” she said 
severely. “ I want to know. Honor Montgomery, 
if, after spending four years at boarding-school, 
and having your poor father pay more than 
three thousand dollars for your education, that 
is all it comes to ? ” 

Yes,” Honor answered meekly, “ when it 
comes to the practical question of how I am to 
earn my bread and butter, that seems to be all 
my fine education can do for me.” 

“Well,” Miss Clark said with emphasis, “I 
am ashamed of you. Honor.” 

“ Not more than I am of myself,” Honor said 


WHY MUST IT BE? 87 

with a face from which all the brightness had 
vanished. 

Miss Clark noticed the change in the girl’s 
expression, and was softened at once. “ Well, 
Honor,” she said gently, “ I am sorry and dis- 
appointed, an’ there ain’t no use in my trying 
to deny it. I did hope you would do something 
more than common girls can do. You see, 
Honor, I wanted to be proud of you, and it 
stands to reason that it ain’t very easy to be 
proud of your candy making and lamp clean- 
ing, when you can’t do nothing else after spend- 
ing more than three thousand dollars. But I’ll 
tell you one thing, Honor, — I ain’t much at 
talking, but I do a good deal of observing — and 
it’s my firm opinion that common things well 
done are pretty sure steps to the uncommon 
things. Now, if you can’t do nothing but make 
candy and clean lamps, do you make your candy 
good and keep your lamps bright, an’ maybe 
sometime you will get something better to do. 
I am sure I hope so for — ” and once more Miss 
Clark’s disapproval had to find expression — 
‘‘ I must say candy -making and lamp cleaning 
ain’t much to show for a three thousand dollar 
education. And — I don’t know as I ought to 
say it. Honor, but I can’t help kinder wonder- 
ing what your poor father would say if he knew 
about it.” 


88 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

What her father would say ? As she listened 
to Miss Clark’s sharp reproof, there came over 
Honor such a deep and keen feeling of regret 
for her wasted opportunities, that her head 
drooped and her eyes grew dim with tears she 
would not allow to fall. But the next instant 
all her unavailing regrets were forgotten in a 
vivid and almost overwhelming remembrance 
of her father’s never failing and tender sym- 
pathy. She felt that if he could know now of 
her trials and failures because of her incompe- 
tence, he would yearn only to help and 
strengthen her. The thought of her father’s 
sure compassion soothed and comforted her, 
and as she dwelt upon it there came a quick 
apprehension, such as she never had known 
before, of what God’s love for his erring and 
ignorant children miist be. For the first time 
she caught a glimpse of the precious truth, that 
the fondest earthly affection is but a faint type 
of God’s enduring love, and from her faith in her 
own father she was taught first to believe that 
the Father in heaven has pity for all our failures, 
and never forgets or forsakes his children. 

That same evening Mrs. Stanley sat in her 
cozy library and wrote the following letter : 

123 Lincoln Avenue, N. Y. City. 

Dear Aunt Esther : — Do you ever think how much 
the people in this world who wear invisible handcuffs — I 


WHY MUST IT BE? 


89 


mean those who are fettered and manacled because of their 
own incompetence — need our sympathy and loving help ? 

Perhaps you will answer, that such self-fettered people 
are the very ones it is hardest to reach and help ; hut when 
love is willing, love can always find a way, you know, and 
I am beginning to think that none are so incompetent 
that they cannot fit in somewhere, if only — and this I 
will frankly own is the great difficulty — that not impos- 
sible “ somewhere can be found. Now, Aunt Esther, you 
must let me tell you a little story. 

I met a young girl to-day who is poor, lonely, and an 
orphan. A graduate of Cedar Grove Seminary — if advers- 
ity had not tested her education — she would have been always 
thought well educated. But a few weeks ago her father 
died, and she found that she was left penniless and with- 
out relations in a world where money and friends are in- 
dispensable to one’s happiness. Then she thought over her 
acquirements, and discovered in them all one great defect— 
“ Thorough ” is a word in her dictionary but it has had no 
place in her life. 

She cannot teach, for she is only smattered with knowl- 
edge ; she is not rooted and grounded in any study as a 
teacher ought to be. She cannot sew well enough to be a 
seamstress, and she has no practical knowledge of house- 
work ; yet she must earn her own bread and batter or 
starve. 

I found her in great distress to-day, and while I listened 
to her story, I did for a few minutes feel hopeless. Some- 
times — I say it with all reverence. Aunt Esther — I am 
tempted to wonder if God himself is not often puzzled what 
to do with such incompetent, helpless creatures, as this 
young girl seems to be. But I remember, God sees all the 
possibilities and latent capabilities of his children, where 
we see only their deficiencies, and so he is never at a loss. 
If they will but trust him he will bring their best out of 
them all. 


90 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


Well, I talked with this forlorn little girl, and I found 
at last, that, in this world so full of useful and ornamental 
arts and sciences, there are just two things that she dares 
to say she can do well. She can make good candy and 
she can — clean — lamps. Now, Aunt Esther, don^t you see 
the somewhere ” into which I want to fit her? 

Her skill in candy making I am going to test myself, and 
I am anxious to know if you don’t want to entrust your 
lamps — I remember they always smoke, smell, and are gen- 
erally disagreeable — to her care ? 

Do try her. Aunt Esther. I am sure you can make her 
useful, and do her good, and God has thrown her in my 
way, and I feel responsible for her. 

Please answer at once, and let your answer be what I 
desire. Affectionately, your niece, 

Helen Stanley. 

Two days later this letter addressed to Mrs. 
Esther Pennock, Pennock Manor, N. Y., 
reached its destination ; and an hour after its 
receipt this answer was on its way to Mrs. 
Stanley : 

Pennock Manor ^ N. Y, 

My Dear Helen : — So you have found another incom- 
petent and half-educated girl to feel responsible for, have 
you? 

Well, I am not surprised, for I believe you are always on 
the lookout for them, and incompetent girls area good deal 
like weeds — they are to be found everywhere, and the fact 
that cultivation would improve them does not make them 
a whit less trying to our patience. 

Under ordinary circumstances I would sooner have my 
lamps smoke than have my temper irritated — as I am sure 
it will be — by this helpless and ineflicient girl. But you 


WHY MUST IT BE? 


91 


are as shrewd, my dear Helen, as you are sympathetic. 
In telling me of this girl you have made me — as you knew 
you would — a sharer in the responsibility you feel for her. 

I do not believe that God leaves anything to chance, or 
does anything by accident, and so, when he throws the 
helpless and inefficient in our way, it is my belief— not 
always, I must confess, an agreeable one — that he means 
us, according to our ability, to rescue and aid them. So 
you may send this young girl — you forgot to give me her 
name — to me, Helen. I hope her two accomplishments, of 
candy making and lamp cleaning, are symbolical of the 
sweetness and light in her character, and though I dare say 
I shall scold her like a shrew, I will try, at the same time, 
to train her like a good housekeeper, and to care for her 
like a Christian. 

I suppose she is as ignorant of business as she is of work, 
and if she is, you must tell me what wages she ought to 
receive. I am willing to pay her generously, hut at the 
same time I wish her to understand, that, in my opinion, 
only work well-done deserves to he well-paid for ; and per- 
haps it will he well for her to know, also, that it is easier 
always for me to pardon want of knowledge, than it is for 
me to tolerate want of conscience. 

Good-bye, my dear niece, let me know when to expect 
my new helper(?). Your affectionate aunt, 

Esther Pennock. 

While these letters were passing from and 
to Mrs. Stanley, Honor was busily and happily 
employed with her candy. She was very suc- 
cessful in making it, and it was with a good 
deal of innocent pride that she sent it to Mrs. 
Stanley. The letter she received in reply made 
her very happy. Mrs. Stanley paid her gener- 


92 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

ously for the candy, and when Honor placed 
the money — the first she had ever earned — in 
her purse, she felt that though useful work 
might have its hardships it had also substantial 
rewards. 

But more satisfactory even than the money 
was the report Mrs. Stanley gave of her corre- 
spondence with Mrs. Pennock. 

To Honor’s great content Mrs. Stanley had 
made all the necessary arrangements with Mrs. 
Pennock for her. The salary she was promised 
was larger than she had dared to hope for, her 
traveling expenses were to be paid, and Mrs. 
Stanley suggested that it would be well if she 
could be at Pennock Manor by the first of Au- 
gust. 

The next few days in Honor’s life were at 
once very busy and very sad. For the last 
time she went through all the rooms in the old 
house where her childhood and girlhood had 
passed so happily ; for the last time she gath- 
ered flowers in the old-fashioned garden, that 
had always been her delight, and when all her 
preparations were completed, and the last even- 
ing came, she took her seat in the homely old 
kitchen, where some of her brightest hours had 
been spent, and laying her head down on the 
table, sobbed like the lonely and desolate child 
she truly was. She had no glad anticipations 


WHY MUST IT BE? 


93 


of the future now ; with a feeling akin to terror 
she clung to Miss Clark and the old life, and the 
thought that she was going where she would be 
usefully employed and liberally compensated 
served only to distress her. 

‘‘ It seems so like a wretched dream,” she said 
in a voice broken with sobs when Miss Clark 
tried to comfort her. “ Only seven weeks ago we 
were so happy here with my father, and now all 
is so changed. O Miss Clark, why must life be 
made so hard for me, while I am still so young ? 
Why must I be so sad and burdened, while 
other girls are so glad and free ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Honor,” Miss Clark answered 
soberly. ‘‘ God is working out his plans for you 
in his own way. It ain’t your way, and it ain’t 
my way, but it is his way, and so it must be the 
best way. That is all the answer I can give 
when you ask me to explain the puzzle of your 
life to you.” 

“ I suppose it is the only answer,” Honor said 
sadly, “but it doesn’t make things any plainer 
nor any easier to bear. Only think. Miss Clark, 
to-morrow I am to say good-bye to you, and to 
every one I have ever known, and I am going ” 
— and the girlish voice sounded a little bitter — 
“ among entire strangers as a — servant. Think 
of it. Miss Clark.” 

“ I have thought of it, Honor,” Miss Clark 


94 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

answered, ‘‘ and I am very sorry for you. But ” 
— with a regretful sigh — “ it seems the only 
way, and I really thought you wanted to go.” 

“ Of course I want to go, I don’t want to 
starve,” Honor returned with some sharpness ; 
“but oh ” — and her voice choked again — “you 
don’t know how it hurts me to go. If only ” — 
she ended with a sob — “ I knew what was be- 
fore me I could bear it better.” 

“ No, you couldn’t,” Miss Clark said wisely. 
“ Even when the way is smoothest, we would 
never be able to walk it, if we could see each 
separate step. Now, Honor ” — she went on in 
a cheerful voice — “ you must hearten up. It 
ain’t no use to feel afraid of your future. Re- 
member you have only got to live it day by day, 
and the longest day is only twenty-four hours. 
You are made of poor stuff if you can’t bear 
trouble for twenty-four hours at a time.” 

Honor did not speak at once ; she sat with 
her head resting on her hand, and her eyes fast- 
ened on the floor. Presently she said, “ I can- 
not help it, Miss Clark, the nearer it comes the 
harder it seems. Only think of it; a servant, I 
shan’t be anything more in Mrs. Pennock’s fam- 
ily than a — servant.” 

“ No, of course you won’t be anything else. 
Honor,” Miss Clark said with much composure, 
“ an’ I am glad you realize it, for now you won’t 


WHY MUST IT BE? 


95 


expect much notice an’ attention, an’ if you 
don’t expect them you won’t make yourself and 
everybody working with you miserable because 
you don’t get them.” 

“ That’s comforting,” Honor said bitterly. 

“ I’m glad if you find it so, but anyway it is 
the truth,” Miss Clark retorted. 

Honor drew a long breath, but her thoughts 
were too bitter to find expression in words, and 
for a few moments the old kitchen was almost 
painfully still. Then in an earnest but very 
gentle voice Miss Clark resumed the conversa- 
tion. 

Honor,” she said, “ this is our last night in 
our old home ; you and I may never talk to- 
gether again, an’ now I am just going to give 
you a last word of advice. You are very proud, 
and here, in your father’s house, you have al- 
ways been first. Now you have got to take a 
humble place, and do a servant’s work, and. 
Honor, if you try to fill a humble place with a 
proud heart you will have a hard time. You 
will have, I dare say, to eat plenty of humble 
pie where you are going, and. Honor, you will 
find it very bitter if you don’t sweeten it with 
humility, and that’s what I advise you to do. 
Honor. Don’t pride yourself on your pride, as 
I have seen some folks do, Honor, but just re- 
solve, since you must be a servant, to be a pa- 


96 IN ONE giel’s experience. 

tient and a willing one, and then you’ll be 
happy. There, I’ve said my last say, Honor, 
an’ if you ain’t the better for it, it will be your 
own fault. Now bring the Bible, and let us 
have prayers together for the last time.” 

With trembling hands Honor brought the 
Bible from which her father had always read. 

“ Read the sixth chapter of Matthew,” Miss 
Clark said, and in a low and tremulous voice 
Honor obeyed. 

She read without interruption to the thirty- 
second verse, but as her voice faltered on the 
precious words, “Your heavenly Father know- 
eth that ye have need of all these things,” 
Miss Clark spoke. 

“ Stop there,” she said, while her own voice, 
that was usually so calm, trembled with feeling ; 
“ stop there. Honor. Let’s rest our hearts on 
those words ; they are all we want.” 

Reverently Honor closed the Bible, and the 
solemn but sweet silence that followed the 
reading remained unbroken for many minutes. 

The shadows darkened, and the evening 
deepened into night, and still the two, who 
through so many years had shared one home, 
lingered together in the old kitchen. At last, 
when they knew that they must separate. 
Honor drew closer to Miss Clark and whispered 
tremulously, “ Pray for me.” 


WHY MUST IT BE? 


97 


Side by side they knelt, and, while memories 
of the past and fears for the future bowed 
both their hearts, in a tender and quivering 
voice Miss Clark prayed : 

“Defend, O Lord, this thy child with thy 
most holy grace ; grant that she may continue 
thine forever ; and may all the changes of her 
life but serve to draw her nearer to thee, and 
make her more fit for heaven.” 

“ So may it be,” Miss Clark whispered — as 
if to give emphasis to her fervent “ Amen ” ; 
and with that prayer calming her spirit like a 
benediction. Honor felt that her life in her old 
home was ended. 

7 


CHAPTER VIL 


ORDERS AND RECEIPTS. 

“ Come, rouse thee up, put self aside, 

And serve thy God with care : 

It may be little thou canst do, 

In some small corner hid from view, 

But God is with thee there.” 

T^ARLY the next morning Honor left Broad- 
fields and a long ride by railroad and 
stage brought her late in the evening to her new 
home. It was a cloudy night, and the house 
looked very dark. She stumbled up the steps 
of the piazza, and then discovered that the 
front door was standing open, though the hall 
was unlighted. Unable to find the bell, she 
knocked as loudly as she could, and then stood 
in the door-way and waited anxiously for some 
one to come to her. 

Several minutes passed, and then a dim light 
appeared at the far end of the hall. It came 
nearer and Honor saw that it was carried by a 
neat-looking servant-girl in a white apron and 
cap. 

“ Can I see Mrs. Pennock ? ” Honor asked, 
as the servant reached the door. 

( 98 ) 


OEDERS AND RECEIPTS. 


99 


The girl hesitated. “ Mrs. Pennock never 
likes to be disturbed after she goes to her room 
for the night,” she said, “ but are you ” 

Impatient to gain admittance Honor inter- 
rupted the girl’s slow speech. 

‘‘ Didn’t Mrs. Pennock expect me ? ” she 
asked. “ I was to come to-day.” 

“ Oh,” the girl said in a relieved tone, then 
you are Miss Honor Montgomery. Gome in, 
please. We expected you to-morrow morning,” 
she explained as she led Honor into a little 
reception-room. “ Mrs. Pennock thought you 
would take the night train from the city ; but 
your room is ready for you, and T will show 
you to it, or perhaps,” the girl added, as she 
saw from Honor’s face that she was very tired, 
“ perhaps you would like to have a cup of tea 
before going to your room ? ” 

“ If it won’t be too much trouble,” Honor 
said wearily. 

“ Oh no,” the girl said pleasantly, “ a little 
thing like that is no trouble. Sit down here, 
please — ” and she drew forward a large easy 
chair— “ and I will bring your lunch in a few 
minutes.” 

“ Will you first tell Mrs. Pennock that I am 
here ? ” Honor asked anxiously. 

“ It won’t make any difference, she won’t 
want to see you before to-morrow morning, but 


100 IN ONE GIKL’s experience. 

I will tell her, if you wish me to ; ’’ the girl 
said as she hurried away. 

With a long-drawn breath that denoted 
relief as well as weariness, Honor dropped into 
the luxurious chair. She was glad that she 
was not to see Mrs. Pennock that night, and 
there was a respect in the girl’s manner toward 
her that quieted some of her anxious fears 
about her position in her new home. After all 
her forebodings, her first impressions were 
pleasant ones ; and feeling that she had noth- 
ing more to fear for that night, she took off her 
hat and leaning back in her chair closed her 
e3^es and in a few minutes was fast asleep. 
She did not hear the door open nor know when 
a slow, soft step crossed the room and stopped 
beside her chair ; and neither did she feel 
the keen and penetrating scrutiny of two dark 
eyes, that through gold-rimmed spectacles, 
studied her face for a few moments. All day 
she had quivered with nervousness whenever 
she thought of meeting Mrs. Pennock, but now 
her slumber was undisturbed by any conscious- 
ness of that lady’s presence, and Mrs. Pennock 
watched her with softened eyes that promised 
well for her future. 

“Poor little girl, she is younger than I ex- 
pected,” she said to the servant when she 
returned with the lunch tray. “ Take good care 


OBDERS AND RECEIPTS. 


101 


of her, Norah. It seems a pity to awaken her, 
but I suppose she ought to have her tea and go 
to bed.” And noiselessly as they had entered 
the soft steps left the room. 

“ Well, Aunt Esther, what is your new re- 
sponsibility like ? ” asked a pleasant voice, as 
the gold-rimmed spectacles, in passing, peered 
in for an instant at the open door of a little 
study. 

“Like other girls; sleepy,” was the decided 
answer. 

“Well, what else can you expect. Aunt Esther, 
when it is almost midnight ? ” 

Aunt Esther’s dark eyes smiled through her 
spectacles, but her voice said testily : 

“ I don’t expect you to ask me any more 
questions to-night. Nephew Vaughn.” And the 
little old lady, who often tried by the sharp- 
ness of her tongue to conceal the real ten- 
derness of her nature, passed on to her own 
room. 

It was some seconds after Mrs. Pennock left 
the room before even Norah’s energetic move- 
ments could arouse Honor ; and when she did 
open her eyes, though the lunch before her 
looked very dainty and tempting, she could not 
eat it. She drank a few swallows of tea, and 
then gladly followed Norah to her room. It 
was a small, but attractive apartment, with 


102 


IN ONE GIEL’S EXPEEIENCE. 


furnishings as pretty as they were comfortable. 
One pleased glance around her Honor did give 
and then with a brief prayer, full of thanks- 
giving for the safety and shelter into which the 
kind hand of her Father in heaven had brought 
her, she laid her tired head on her pillow, and 
in another minute was once more asleep. 

When she awoke the next morning her room 
was already bright with the sunshine of a 
radiant summer day. She looked at her watch, 
but it had stopped, and a nervous fear that she 
had over-slept made her spring up and dress 
without an instant’s delay. Then she opened 
her door a,nd stepped out into the hall. It 
was a comfort to see Norah with her broom 
and duster on the stairs. 

“Am I very late?” Honor asked, breath- 
lessly. 

“No, indeed, Miss,” Norah answered, in her 
cheerful Irish voice. “Mrs. Pennock hasn’t 
gone down yet. Would you like to go to the 
library, and wait for her ? ” 

“ Perhaps that would be best,” Honor said, 
while her heart beat fast as she thought of the 
interview before her ; and without another word 
she followed Norah to the library. 

It was a large room, and yet hardly large 
enough for its contents. The cases that were 
built into the sides of the room had over-flowed, 


OKDERS AND RECEIPTS. 


103 


and books filled the tables, and were even piled 
on the floor. 

Honor looked around her with pleased but 
surprised eyes. “ I never saw so many books 
before outside of a bookstore,” she said inno- 
cently. “ Who can read them all ? ” 

“ The young master is a great book-worm,” 
Norah answered, with the proud air of one 
announcing a fact that reflected credit on her- 
self ; and then pointing toward a recess, half- 
hidden by the folds of a heavy curtain, she 
whispered loudly : “ Hu — sh, he’s there him- 
self, now.” 

He? Who? Honor had heard only of Mrs. 
Pennock ; she had overlooked the important 
fact that possibly there might be other persons 
in the family; and now too surprised to speak, 
she stood still near the door, undecided whether 
to run away or to adhere to her purpose and 
wait for Mrs. Pennock. 

Evidently, however, her uncertainty was not 
shared by the occupant of the recess, for, re- 
minded by Norah’s loud whisper that his pres- 
ence was known, he at once brushed aside the 
curtain and came forward. 

“ Good-morning,” he said pleasantly. “ Won’t 
you sit down ? My aunt, Mrs. Pennock, will be 
here in a few minutes.” 

In much confusion, Honor sat down in the 


104 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

nearest chair, and standing by the table the 
gentleman arranged some of the papers and 
magazines that were scattered over it. As he 
did so he asked, smilingly: “Do you like 
books?” 

“Ye — es, some books,” Honor hesitatingly 
replied. 

“ But not all ? Will you tell me what kind 
of books have the honor to be liked by you ? ” 

Honor wished she could run away, but not 
daring to do that, she sat still and answered in 
a sober voice : ‘‘ Books I can understand.” 

“ Does that mean that your understanding is 
limited, or jom love for books universal ? ” the 
gentleman asked; and though his voice was 
grave his eyes flashed with amusement. Though 
she was keenly conscious that she was probably 
only passing from one inquisitor to another, it 
was at that moment a great relief to Honor to 
see an elderly lady enter the room, and to hear 
the gentleman say : “ Good-morning, Aunt 
Esther.” 

The old lady nodded to him, but her eyes 
rested on Honor. 

“ Good-morning, Honor Montgomery,” she 
said quietly. 

Honor’s lips stammered an inarticulate reply, 
and pitying her confusion the old lady said 
kindly, “Perhaps I am surer of your name than 


ORDERS AND RECEIPTS. 


105 


you are of mine. I am Mrs. Pennock, and 
this ” — and she placed her hand lightly on the 
young man’s arm — “is my nephew, Vaughn 
Royalston, Professor of Natural History in 
Agassiz College.” 

“ It is a great comfort to be properly intro- 
duced,” Mr. Royalston said playfully. 

Mrs. Pennock did not reply ; walking to an 
easy chair at the head of the library table she 
seated herself, and then said : “ Ring the bell, 

Honor, and we will have prayers.” 

Silently Honor obeyed her. Two or three 
servants came in and Mr. Royalston conducted 
the morning service of Bible reading and prayer. 
That service over, breakfast was announced. 

“ Come with me,” Mrs. Pennock said, as she 
perceived Honor’s painful uncertainty ; and as 
they walked toward the dining-room she asked, 
“ Do you know your position in this house ? ” 

“ Lamp cleaner,” Honor said humbly. 

Mrs. Pennock uttered a little impatient ex- 
clamation. “ Lamp cleaning will be included in 
your duties,” she said, “ but I don’t expect the 
smoke and the smell of my lamps to cling to 
you all the time, and I prefer to ignore them 
altogether in naming your position. You are 
understood to be my companion. Now do you 
know your place ? Do you know what a com- 
panion’s duties are ? ” 


106 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“ No,” Honor answered truthfully. 

“ Then you will have to learn,” Mrs- Pennock 
said with sharp decision. 

‘‘ I will do the best I can,” Honor promised 
meekly. 

“ Of course, that is expected, and under- 
stood,” Mrs. Pennock said in a voice that puz- 
zled Honor, for it sounded at once kind and 
annoyed. 

The breakfast, so far as Honor’s share in it 
was concerned, was a very silent meal. With 
a dread that made her almost faint she drank 
her coffee, and tried to nerve herself for the ex- 
amination she supposed she must soon undergo. 
She wondered what her duties would be, and 
whether she would be able to perform them. 
As the minutes went by her embarrassment in- 
creased ; and when they arose from the table her 
lips were trembling, and her color coming and 
going with painful quickness. Two pairs of 
observant eyes had seen all the changes in the 
girl’s sensitive face, but as soon as the break- 
fast was over, Mr. Royalston quietly left the 
room, and with her most matter-of-fact face and 
voice Mrs. Pennock turned to Honor. 

Honor,” she said, as she took a little card 
from her pocket and handed it to the embar- 
rassed girl, do not like to have the people in 
my house coming to me every hour or two to 


OEDEKS AND EECEIPTS. 


107 


know what I want them to do. Frequent inter- 
ruptions are like the briars that tear our clothes 
— they will make the longest day’s work a thing 
of patches and shreds. As far as possible, I al- 
ways plan the work for the day in the morning, 
and you will find the duties I wish you to per- 
form to-day written on this card.” 

With a sinking heart Honor took the little 
card. She felt very much as if she were hold- 
ing a whole law library in her hand. She waited 
until Mrs. Pennock had left the dining-room, 
and then summoning all her courage she read 
her duties. 

They were plainly written, and as she looked 
at the large and legible words. Honor felt that 
she never could plead that she did not under- 
stand what was required of her. 

Slowly she read : 

“ Honor Montgomery’s work for the second 
day of August. 


Moening Duties. 

1st. Clean the lamps. 

2nd. Arrange flowers for the parlor, library, and dining- 
room. 

3rd. Sort and repair linen in the sewing-room. 

4th. Make a mayonnaise salad dressing for lunch. 

“Which I don’t know how to do at all,” 
Honor thought ruefully ; but she read on. 


108 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


Afteenoon Duties. 

1st. Make two forms of lemon jelly. 

“Another thing I don’t know how to do,” 
Honor said in despair. She felt already half in- 
clined to resign her situation as Mrs. Pennock’s 
companion, but with a brave effort she contin- 
ued to read. 

2nd. Make button holes in a flannel wapper you will 
And in the sewing room. 

“ Why, I never made a button hole in my 
life,” Honor exclaimed tearfully, as she dropped 
the card. “ What can Mrs. Pennock mean ? I 
told Mrs. Stanley that I did not know how to 
do any thing, and now Mrs. Pennock expects 
me to prepare delicate dishes for the table, and 
do fine sewing. Why, I cannot do it. It is 
impossible.” 

For some minutes Honor tried to find com- 
fort in the thought that her duties were impos- 
sibilities, but her sober common sense soon re- 
minded her that, no matter how impossible her 
duties seemed to her, the great fact still re- 
mained that Mrs. Pennock considered them 
possible, and expected them to be performed. 

At last, made desperate by the consciousness 
of her ignorance, and her belief that Mrs. 


ORDERS AND RECEIPTS. 


loa 


Pennock had not been correctly informed as to 
her qualifications, Honor picked up the card 
and hurried to the library. 

Mrs. Pennock sat there knitting tranquilly, 
but to Honor’s consternation, Mr. Royalston 
was sitting near her reading aloud. 

“Well,” Mrs. Pennock said, as flushed and 
almost breathless Honor rushed into the library, 
“ What is the matter ? Has a lamp exploded ? ” 

“ Mrs. Pennock — ” Honor began and then 
stopped awkwardly, confused by the scrutiny 
of the keen eyes bent upon her. 

“ Yes,” Mrs. Pennock said quietly, “ that is 
my name. What do you want ? ” 

Honor stood for an instant irresolute, but 
then she found courage to say, “ Mrs. Pennock, 
I want to speak to you.” 

“ Very well, I know of nothing to prevent. 
You have got a tongue, and I have got ears.” 

“ But there has been a mistake — I want to 
explain,” Honor stammered. 

“ Explain then,” Mrs. Pennock said calmly. 

Honor cast one helpless glance toward Mr. 
Royalston. It seemed impossible for her to 
make her humiliating confession of ignorance 
in his hearing. 

Pitying her embarrassment the young man 
would have left the library, but Mrs. Pennock 
prevented him. 


110 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

‘‘ Stay here, Vaughn,” she ordered. “ I want 
your help.” 

‘‘ To do what. Aunt Esther ? ” Mr. Royalston 
asked, as rather unwillingly he resumed his 
chair. 

“ I cannot both give and receive explanations 
at the same time,” Mrs. Pennock answered 
coolly. “ Now, Honor, what do you wish to 
say ? ” 

The choking sensation in Honor’s throat was 
so painful that she almost gasped, but speak 
she must, and with much difficulty she man- 
aged to say, “ This card, Mrs. Pennock, it is all 
wrong.” 

“ All wrong ? I wrote it myself, Honor.” 

I mean — ” Honor stammered — “ I mean — 
the duties, I told Mrs. Stanley ; I thought she 
understood ; I didn’t mean to deceive ; I don’t 
know how to do them.” 

“Mrs. Stanley wrote me you were a little 
ignoramus — if that is what you mean — ” Mrs. 
Pennock replied with great composure, “ but I 
did not suppose you wanted to remain one. 
Let me have that card. ” 

With a quick, suppressed sound, suspiciously 
like a sob. Honor handed her the card, and ad- 
justing her spectacles Mrs. Pennock read it. 

“ First, you are to clean the lamps,” she said. 
“You do consider yourself capable of dping 


ORDERS AND RECEIPTS. 


Ill 


that I believe ? ” And with eyes as bright and 
sharp as her knitting needles Mrs. Pennock 
looked at the troubled girl. 

“ Yes,” Honor humbly admitted, “ but that 
was all I said I could do.” 

Mrs. Pennock frowned. “Could is in the 
past tense, we are considering what you can 
and will do in the present,” she said as she 
glanced again at the card. “ Second, arrange 
flowers — if you can’t do that you are truly to 
be pitied. — Next, you are to sort and mend 
linen. Is that duty beyond your powers of 
performance ? ” 

“ I think I can do the sorting, I am not sure 
about the mending,” Honor said, hesitatingly. 

“ If you are not, you ought to be. Well, 
next you are to make a mayonnaise dressing. 
Pray is that an impossibility ? ” 

“ I — I — don’t know how,” Honor confessed. 

“And you never heard of such a thing as a 
receipt-book, I suppose. What do you think 
they are for, if not to teach just such ignorant 
girls as you are ? ” 

“I didn’t think of a receipt-book,” Honor 
said while her face burned with mortification. 

“Then you have got to learn to think. 
When you don’t know how to do a thing your 
first duty is to think where you can learn to do 
it,” Mrs. Pennock said severely. “ Let me see. 


112 


IN ONE GIRL S EXPERIENCE. 


next you are to make jelly. What is the 
trouble about that ? ” 

“ I don’t know how," Honor confessed again. 

“ Then study the receipt-book again. Next, 
you are to make button-holes. That is work 
with the needle that every woman ought to be 
expert in. Why do you object to it ? " 

“1 never made a button-hole in my life," 
Honor stammered. 

“ I supposed so. You are certainly consistent 
in your ignorance. Well, because you never 
have made a button-hole do you think it fol- 
lows that you never should make one. You 
have got to learn, that is all." 

“ But I am afraid I’ll spoil the wrapper," 
Honor said feebly. 

“ Then practice first on a piece of old cloth. 
Now understand. Honor," Mrs. Pennock said, 
in a serious but not unkind voice, as she gave 
the card back to the tearful girl, “ understand 
that every duty named on this card I expect 
you to perform to-day, except working the but- 
ton-holes in the wrapper — ^you will make them 
in old cloth to-day, to-morrow you can make 
them in the wrapper. There are several re- 
ceipt-books on the shelf in the dining-room 
closet. Take Mrs. Henderson’s, and learn from 
that how to make the dressing and the jelly. 
Norah, and Maggie, the cook, will show you 


ORDERS AND RECEIPTS. 


113 


where to find everything you need to use. I 
know you are to-day a very ignorant and in- 
competent young girl, but you are capable, I 
hope, of becoming intelligent and competent, 
and what you are capable of being you must 
be. Now go, and to the best of your ability 
perform your duties.” 

With a scarlet face and tearful eyes Honor 
hurried from the library. As soon as she had 
closed the door, Mr. Royalston, who had been 
apparently blind and deaf to everything but his 
book, turned to his aunt. 

“ Aunt Esther,” he said, earnestl}", “ how 
could you be so hard with that poor girl ? ” 

“Just because she is a poor girl,” Mrs. Pen- 
nock returned. 

“What?” Mr. Royalston exclaimed, while 
he looked in blank amazement at his aunt. 

“ I don’t mean because she is poor, in the 
sense of having no money,” Mrs. Pennock con- 
descended to explain, “ but I mean because she 
is poor, in the sense of being ignorant, ineffi- 
cient, and sadly incapable of taking care of her- 
self. I consented to receive her into my family 
because it seemed my duty to do so,, and now I 
mean to do my duty by her.” 

“ I am afraid you will make her very un- 
happy,” Mr. Royalston said soberly. 

“ You may dismiss your fears. I wrote to 
8 


114 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


Helen that I should scold her like a shrew — ” 
and Mrs. Pennock gave a soft and mellow laugh 
as she spoke — “ but I have no intention of 
causing her one thrill of unhappinesss that will 
not help to make her a better and happier woman 
in the future. You heard the duties I require 
of her to-day, Vaughn. They are duties that 
every young lady, no matter what her position 
may be, ought to be able to perform. To-mor- 
row morning I shall give her another card, with 
different duties. I. shall not pet her ignorance, 
but neither shall 4 break her heart. You may 
trust me.” 

I hope so,” and Mr. Royalston looked 
smilingly at his aunt, “ but were you not un- 
necessarily severe with her to-day ? Why did 
you insist on my remaining when my presence 
only added to her confusion ? ” 

“ Perhaps I was a little hard there,” Mrs. 
Pennock acknowledged. ‘‘ But I have already 
discovered that my little lady is very proud. 
Her mortification at having to confess her ig- 
norance before you will be a great spur to her 
efforts to remedy her defects. She will not tell 
me again that she does not know how to do a 
thing, until she has tried faithfully to learn how, 
to do it.” 

Mr. Royalston shook his head. “ I never 
suspected that you were such a rigid disciplina- 


ORDERS AND RECEIPTS. 


115 


rian, Aunt Esther,” he said gravely, “and 
though I dare say you are right, in theory at 
least, I cannot help pitying your pupil. Poor 
little girl, I wonder how she will get through 
this first day.” 

Mrs. Pennock knitted away with great com- 
posure. “She will know more to-night than 
she knew this morning,” she said. “ Now go on 
with your reading, Vaughn, I want you to fin- 
ish that book before you leave to-morrow.” 

In after years, when Honor reviewed her life, 
she used to say playfully that Mrs.' Pennock 
was the best teacher she ever had. But when 
she left the library that morning she was dis- 
posed to take a very dark view of her circum- 
stances and life, and for a little while she felt 
very miserable and friendless. But though 
must is a hard word, it is also a very helpful 
word. The task that we know we must do, we 
can always nerve ourselves, at least, to attempt. 
And Honor, after a hearty cry in her room, 
went courageously about her duties, and per- 
formed them better than Mrs. Pennock had an- 
ticipated. The card next morning assigned her 
new tasks, and sent her again to the cook-book. 
And for several weeks, between practising with 
her needle and experimenting with receipts. 
Honor was kept very busy. 

By degrees she began to find positive pleas- 


116 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


ure in her new life — it was a very quiet life. 
Mr. Royalston had gone, and often for days 
the family in the old manor house consisted only 
of Mrs. Pennock, and herself, and the servants. 
Once such a retired life would have seemed al- 
most unendurable to Honor, but now her con- 
stant occupation kept her contented and cheer- 
ful. It was pleasant to know that she was im- 
proving and learning something useful each day ; 
and she soon began to feel a pardonable pride 
in her knowledge of household arts. 

But growth in our nature is not meant to be 
a one-sided affair ; and now, as Honor advanced 
in her knowledge of cooking and needlework, 
she became increasingly conscious of her defi- 
ciencies in book knowledge ; and she began to 
desire more earnestly than ever before in her 
life to become truly a well-educated woman. 
Before her first autumn in Pennock Manor ex- 
pired, Honor began seriously to question, if it 
was not her right and her duty to aim to make 
something more of herself than even a good 
housekeeper and a skillful seamstress. 

One day in the library she took up a book 
that Mrs. Pennock had left open at an essay 
with this suggestive title : 

“ Concerning People of Whom More Might 
Have Been Made : ” Attracted by the subject. 
Honor began to read the essay, but the gentle 


ORDERS AND RECEIPTS. 


117 


pessimism of the author was not pleasing to 
her young and hopeful mind, and when she 
read : 

“ ‘ More might have been, made of all of us, 
probably in the case of most, not much more 
will be made in this world,’ ” she dropped the 
book with a thrill of positive fear. 

Was that all that life amounted to? she 
asked herself. Were advancement and growth 
quite impossible for all but a favored few ? Was 
there to be no going on, and going higher for 
herself ? 

There should be, Honor almost fiercely re- 
solved. From that very hour she would begin 
to make the most of herself. 

Urged on by that resolve, Honor hastened to 
her room. Out from the depths of her trunk 
— where she had packed them more for the 
sake of old associations, than from any inten- 
tion of ever reviewing them — she took her old 
schoolbooks, and with a firm determination to 
master them, began to study. 

The next morning when Mrs. Pennock in 
going about the house, as was her custom each 
day, entered Honor’s room, she noticed the pile 
of books on a little table near the window. As 
she stooped to examine them her face was a 
study. 

“ Ah,” she said in a curious voice, “ so there 


118 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

is growth in more directions than one is there ? 
Well, a skylark always will soar no matter how 
hard you try to make a ground bird of it — but 
we will wait awhile, and make sure that there 
is perseverance as well as ambition here, and if 
there is we — will see ” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


NOT HEESELF. 

“ Alas, this peevishness with good 
Is want of faith in God, 

Unloving thoughts within distort 
The look of things abroad.’^ 

— Faber. 

T>ETWEEN the duties Mrs. Pennock required 
of her, and the tasks she unsparingly im- 
posed on herself, Honor’s days were now fully 
occupied. Though Mrs. Pennock, for some rea- 
son she did not care to explain, was gradually 
lessening her - duties, she still gave her a little 
card each morning ; and Honor found herself 
no longer dreading it, but watching for it with 
positive pleasure. Something new was usu- 
ally asked of her, and to conquer her difRcult- 
ies was now a keen delight to the girl. Hither 
and thither about the house she went with light 
feet and willing hands until her morning’s work 
was done ; then she would seek her room, and 
through the quiet afternoons, that Mrs. Pen- 
nock never allowed to be interrupted now, she 
would devote herself to her books. As the 
weeks and months went by Mrs. Pennock 

( 119 ) 


120 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


watched her with an interest that steadily in- 
creased ; and Honor, conscious that even her 
sharpest reproofs were the reproofs of a true and 
wise friend, was happy and contented with 
her. 

So a quiet winter glided into a sunshiny 
spring, and that, in turn, gave place to a radi- 
ant summer, and summer, in due time, made 
way for the golden skies and russet tints of au- 
tumn, and still Honor’s life continued to pass 
happily in Pennock Manor. 

In those long months there had been but few 
visitors at the manor house, and only once had 
Mrs. Pennock varied the monotony of her life 
by going to the city for a few days ; then she 
took Honor with her, and the museums and 
picture galleries the girl visited there sent her 
back with new zest to her books and studies. 

Through these quiet months Mr. Royalston, 
who had left Pennock Manor the day after 
Honor arrived there, had been in Europe, and 
Honor had almost forgotten his existence, when 
one bright October morning, as she folded the 
letter she had been reading, Mrs. Pennock said 
in a happy voice,” Mr. Roj^alston will be here 
to-night, Honor.” 

“ Oh dear.” That little exclamation was ut- 
tered involuntarily, and the next instant Honor 
bit her lip in vexation. 


NOT HERSELF. 


121 


Mrs. Pennock looked at her with an amused 
smile. ‘‘I am sorry you do not find my inform- 
ation pleasant, Honor,” she said ; “ will you 
be any better pleased when I tell you that my 
nephew does not come alone ? ” 

“I ought to be pleased with everything that 
gives you pleasure, Mrs. Pennock,” Honor said, 
in a voice that plainly indicated that what the 
girl felt she ought to be, she was not. 

“Well,” Mrs. Pennock said, “I don’t de- 
mand impossibilities, Honor, but I should like 
to know why you are sorry to have Vaughn 
Royalston come home.” 

“I am only sorry to have our quiet life 
changed,” Honor confessed ingenuously. 

“Oh, is that the reason? well, as Vaughn 
neither drums, nor talks loud enough for the man 
in the moon to hear him, I don’t think your quiet 
will be seriously disturbed. I suppose though, 
while out visitors are here, there will be a little 
life in this sleepy old house.” 

“ Visitors,” Honor repeated. 

“ Yes, didn’t I tell you Vaughn was not com- 
ing alone ? My niece, Janet Howard, and a 
young friend of hers, Ethel Clinton, are com- 
ing with him.” 

Honor sat back in her chair and looked at 
Mrs. Pennock with wide open eyes. “ Why,” 
she exclaimed, “ I used to know a Janet How- 


122 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

ard and an Ethel Clinton. They were my 
schoolmates at Cedar Grove Seminary.” 

‘‘Then you probably know the Janet How- 
ard and the Ethel Clinton who are coming here,” 
Mrs. Pennock replied, “ for they were at Cedar 
Grove Seminary two years ago.” 

“ I was there then,” Honor said ; and her 
cheeks flushed, and her eyes were bright with 
pleasant anticipations as she added, “ I shall be 
glad to see Janet and Ethel. I have not met 
one of my schoolmates since I left the semin- 
ary.” 

“ School girl friendships are very pleasant — 
while they last,” Mrs. Pennock said with a note 
of sadness in her voice, caused, perhaps, by 
memories of her own young life. But Honor 
had no sad memories of her school-days, and 
it was with a pleasure that increased as the 
hours went by that she thought of the coming 
guests. 

She had felt at flrst — as she said to Mrs. Pen- 
nock — very sorry to have their quiet life 
changed ; but she was young, warm-hearted, 
and naturally fond of society, and the thought 
that for at least one long month two young 
girls, who were once her schoolmates, were to 
be with her in that quiet house made her heart 
throb with joy. What delightful talks, what 
hours of pleasant intercourse they would have 


NOT HEESELF. 


123 


together ! More than once that day Mrs. Pen- 
nock heard, what was an unusual sound in her 
quiet house, the sweet notes of Honor’s voice 
as she went singing about her duties. 

As the day advanced, Honor counted the 
hours and half-hours that must pass before their 
welcome visitors would arrive ; and it was with 
a bright face, as the shadows of twilight gath- 
ered, that she lighted the lamps about the house, 
and then slipped into the library, and stirred 
the oak logs smouldering in the fireplace, until 
with a great shower of sparks the ruddy flames 
went leaping up the chimney. 

“ There,” Honor said in a satisfied tone, 
“this is a pleasant fire. I do hope the people 
who are to sit by it will be pleasant too.” 

“ I can promise that one of them will at least 
try to be pleasant,” said a voice behind her. 
And turning quickly she saw Mr. Royalston 
standing in the doorway. 

“ Why,” Honor exclaimed in surprise, as she 
advanced to meet him, “ I did not know you 
had arrived.” 

“ Your ignorance is pardonable,” Mr. Royal- 
ston replied quietly, “for we have but this min- 
ute entered the house.” 

We ? Honor’s eyes passed Mr. Royalston and 
looked eagerly out into the hall. 

“ Are you looking for my companions ? ” Mr. 


124 IN ONE gtel’s experience. 

Royalston asked, with a little amusement in his 
tone. ‘‘ They are with my aunt. I came in 
here to say, how do you do, to my books. Al- 
ways after an absence I am uneasy until I have 
looked at them.” 

“ They have been handled very little since 
you left them,” Honor said in a matter-of-fact 
voice. 

“Not, I hope, because you could not find 
among them some book you could understand,” 
he answered in playful allusion to their first 
conversation. “ Have you had a pleasant year, 
have you been well ? ” he asked more gravely. 

“ Yes, both,” Honor replied as she walked to 
the door. “ Excuse me,” she said then, “ I 
must find Mrs. Pennock.” 

“ You will not have to look far,” Mrs. Pen- 
nock’s voice answered, “for we are close by. 
Now Janet, and Ethel,” she said as she entered 
the library with the two young girls, ‘‘ here is 
a new and yet an old friend for you. Do you 
know her ? ” 

Two pairs of bright young eyes looked curi- 
ously at Honor for an instant, and then two gay 
young voices cried, “ Why it is. Honor, Honor 
Montgomery,” and for a few moments there was 
a pleasant hubbub of girlish chatter and laugh- 
ter, while Mrs. Pennock and Mr. Royalston 
looked on with smiling faces. 


NOT HERSELF. 


125 


“ Isn’t it strange,” Janet said presently, “that 
we should meet here. Honor ? Have you 
been here long, are you visiting Aunt Esther 
too?” 

That question suddenly recalled to Honor’s 
recollection some facts she had well-nigh for- 
gotten. For months she had been too busy 
and contented in Mrs. Pennock’s home to be 
troubled by any proud thoughts about her posi- 
tion there. But now, as she looked at her 
school-mates, she wondered, with a little pang 
of pride, if it would make any difference in 
their regard for her when they knew that she 
was not Mrs. Pennock’s visitor but really her 
servant. She was conscious of a secret unwill- 
ingness to answer Janet’s question ; but no one 
spoke, all seemed to be waiting for her answer, 
and after a moment’s silence she said, in a voice 
that had lost a little of its vivacity: 

“ No, I am not visiting Mrs. Pennock. I am 
working for her. Shall I show you your room ? ” 

“ Oh.” . It would be hard for a long sentence 
containing many words to express all that that 
little interjection signified as it fell from Janet’s 
lips. 

Honor’s face flushed as she heard it. “ Shall 
I show you your room?” she asked again as she 
turned toward the door. 

“ Yes, go to your room,” Mrs. Pennock or- 


126 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

dered ; and in evident confusion the two girls 
followed Honor. ‘‘How did she come here?” 
Ethel whispered to Janet. 

“ I cannot imagine,” Janet answered. “ It 
is a mystery to me.” 

Honor heard both the question and answer. 
“ It is a mystery easily explained,” she said as 
she led the girls into the beautiful room that 
with many bright anticipations she had herself 
prepared for them. “ My father died sixteen 
months ago, and I was left poor. It was neces- 
sary for me to support myself and Mrs. Pen- 
nock hired me. I have been with her fourteen 
months.” 

Honor spoke in a low but calm voice, and the 
girls who listened to her, little suspected how 
much her explanation cost her. They looked 
at her a moment, too surprised, perhaps, to 
speak, and then Janet said : 

“It is too bad, isn’t it, Ethel?” 

“ Yes, I am very sorry for you. Honor,” Ethel 
said; and then for another minute the three 
girls were silent. 

Janet was the first to break the disagreeable 
silence. “ Honor,” she said in a nervous voice, 
“ are you really here as a — servant ? What do 
you do ? ” 

“ Whatever Mrs. Pennock orders me to do,” 
Honor replied. “ Yes, I am really here as a 


NOT HEKSELF. 


127 


servant,” she added with a little emphasis, for 
her pride was rising. 

“ I am sorry for you,” Janet said in a tone 
that indicated little real interest; and then as 
Honor opened the door she exclaimed, “ Oh 
Honor, if you are going down stairs, won’t 
you see if our trunks have come ? ” 

It was a simple thing to ask. Janet might 
have made the same request of Ethel had she 
been going down stairs, but in her indifferent 
tone and manner there was something implied 
that stung and embittered Honor. 

“ I am not her servant, if I am Mrs. Pen- 
nock’s,” she said angrily to herself ; and when a 
little later she met the girls in the dining-room 
all the pleasant friendliness of manner with 
which she had greeted them at first had passed 
away. She made no attempt to join in the 
lively conversation at the dinner table, but with 
flushed cheeks and flashing eyes she filled her 
place and performed the little duties that de- 
volved upon her. All the while proud and 
angry thoughts were rising in her heart, and 
once when Ethel — who at school had cared little 
for either reading or study — asked, “ Mr. Royal- 
ston, don’t you after talking with common people 
often find it a great relief to take up a good 
book?” Honor’s lip curled scornfully. 

She is only talking for effect, she thought bit- 


128 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

terly. And with that unlovely thought making 
her face look hard and scornful she turned and 
met Mr. Royalston’s eyes gravely watching her. 

Her own eyes fell, and turning to Ethel, Mr. 
Royalston said quietly, “ You will have to tell 
me what you mean by common people before I 
can answer your question. Miss Ethel.” 

‘‘ Oh, I mean commonplace, ordinary people ; 
people who are of no account, you know,” Ethel 
explained with a nervous little laugh. 

“ People of no account,” Mr. Royalston said 
soberly. ‘‘ I do not know any such people, 
Miss Ethel. Remember there is not a soul in 
this world that is not of value in God’s sight, 
and if I am a Christian can there be any people 
of no account in mine ? ” 

“Don’t preach a sermon. Cousin Vaughn,” 
Janet said as she came to Ethel’s assistance. 
“ You know well enough that Ethel did not 
mean anything as serious as your answer would 
imply. She only meant that there are a great 
many ordinary, uninteresting people in the 
world, for whom you cannot help feeling con- 
tempt — sometimes at least.” 

“ I am by no means sure that you have bet- 
tered matters by your explanation, Janet,” Mr. 
Royalston said with a grave smile. “ Perhaps 
there are people whom we are sometimes, in cer- 
tain unlovely states of mind, tempted to look 


NOT HERSELF. 


129 


upon with scorn ; but that does not prove that 
they are commonplace ; it only proves that we 
are bitter and uncharitable. When there is love 
in our hearts we never scorn any one ; and we 
never curl our lips at another’s folly without 
betraying our own unloveliness.” 

As Mr. Royalston spoke his eyes for an instant 
rested upon Honor. She felt humiliated and 
ashamed, and for the next few minutes she was 
too absorbed in her own thoughts to hear what 
her companions were saying. Presently she was 
aroused by Mr. Royalston, who was serving the 
salad. 

“ Miss Montgomery,” he said playfully, “ is 
this dressing made by Mrs. Henderson’s re- 
ceipt ? it is very fine.” 

“ Well,” Janet exclaimed, “ I never knew be- 
fore that you were interested in receipt books. 
Cousin Vaughn.” 

“ That only proves that, notwithstanding 
our long acquaintance, you do not know me 
very well,” Mr. Royalston replied. “ I am par- 
ticularly interested in Mrs. Henderson’s cook- 
book, and I have wondered for some time if her 
receipts for mayonnaise dressing and lemon 
jelly were reliable. Have you found them so ? ” 
And Mr. Royalston looked smilingly at Honor. 

“No — Yes — I believe so,” Honor answered 
awkwardly. 

9 


130 


m ONE girl’s experience. 


Ethel laughed. ‘‘ That sounds like some of 
the answers you used to give in the school- 
room, Honor,” she said, with a hint of sarcasm 
in her voice. 

There was a dangerous flash in Honor’s eyes 
as she looked at Ethel. “ You have a good 
memory,” she said, ‘‘ but you probably remem- 
ber my answers because your own were so often 
copies of them.” 

Ethel’s face crimsoned ; there was too much 
truth in Honor’s cutting words for her to deny 
them, but Janet said promptly : 

“ I am sure of one thing. Honor, Ethel never 
copied your answers when she wanted to be 
courteous and kind.” 

There was surprise and annoyance in Mrs. 
Pennock’s face as she looked soberly from one 
to the other of the three girls. She was puzzled 
to understand the change in their behavior, but 
Mr. Royalston, who understood and regretted it, 
now said pleasantly : . 

“Speaking of memories, do you young la- 
dies remember why, in the old fairy story. 
Princess Golden Memory was so named ? ” 

“ I don’t think we ever made the acquaint- 
ance of that princess,” Ethel answered. 

“No? Then you have missed a rare pleas- 
ure. She was called Princess Golden Memory 
because she remembered nothing of others 


NOT HERSELF. 


131 


that was not kind and pleasant,” and as he 
spoke Mr. Royalston once more looked soberly 
at Honor. She felt reproved, but her pride 
was fully aroused now and she answered bit- 
terly : 

“ The princess must have forgotten a great 
deal more than she remembered then.” 

Mrs. Pennock looked at her reprovingly. 
“ I hope you are not speaking from your own 
experience, Honor,” she said. “ I trust you 
have more kind than unkind things to remem- 
ber of the people you have known.” 

As Mrs. Pennock spoke there rushed into 
Honor’s mind, memories of Miss Clark, and Mr. 
Winthrop, and Mrs. Stanley, and of many 
others from whom she had received much un- 
selfish and thoughtful kindness, and ashamed 
of a speech that was not only bitter but un- 
grateful, she silently resolved to watch her 
words and conquer her angry feelings. 

But resolutions made in our own strength, 
yield to the slightest temptation, as the with- 
ered leaves fall from the trees in autumn if a 
passing sigh but stirs them, and when the next 
morning Honor received her card from Mrs. 
Pennock she was again tried and again she 
failed. 

“ What is that? ” Janet asked rather saucily, 
as she saw Honor receive and read the little 


132 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


card. “ Aunt Esther seldom writes to her ab- 
sent friends. Does she write to you, who live 
in the same house with her? Really, Honor, I 
think I shall begin to be jealous of you.” 

“ Better wait until you have cause for jeal- 
ousy,” Honor answered. “ This card contains 
my duties for to-day.” 

“ What are they,” Ethel cried eagerly. “ I 
am so curious to know what you have to do, 
Honor. Do let me read that card.” 

“ Read it aloud,” Janet suggested. 

Honor looked up. Mrs. Pennock had left the 
dining-room, and though Mr. Royalston still 
lingered at the table he was absorbed in his 
paper ; she conquered the resentful feeling that 
made her cheeks burn, and said calmly, ‘‘ Very 
well, if it will give you pleasure to hear it, I 
will read it.” 

“ Do so,” Janet said. And in a low but dis- 
tinct voice Honor read : 

Honor Montgomery, duties for Wednesday, Oct. 10th. 

1st. Attend to the lamps. 

2nd. Make a prune pudding for dinner. 

3rd. Make sponge cake for tea. 

4th. Seal up the grape jelly made yesterday. 

5th. Hang the curtains in the parlor. 

6th. Cut out and baste a chintz covering for my easy chair. 

“ Well,” Janet said, as Honor finished reading 
“your duties take you up-stairs, down-stairs, 


NOT HERSELF. 133 

and into the lady’s chamber, don’t they, Honor? 
Does Aunt Esther change your duties every 
day?” 

“ Yes,” Honor said shortly. 

“ And you like it, I suppose ? ” Janet said in 
a sarcastic voice. 

“I don’t dislike it,” Honor replied. 

“ Well,” Ethel said, while she glanced cau- 
tiously at Mr. Royalston, who still appeared 
engrossed with his paper, ‘‘ I suppose what one 
cannot help one must make the best of, but I 
don’t understand, Hon(^, why you had to be- 
come a — a — servant. You might have done 
something else — something not quite so menial 
as house work,” she explained with a flurried 
little laugh. “ Now there is teaching. Honor, 
why didn’t you teach ? ” 

If the flash in Honor’s eyes had been Are it 
would have annihilated Ethel. She was in no 
mood to believe Ethel’s question prompted by 
kind interest. Her pride was ready to see an 
intentional slight or insult in everything her 
old schoolmates said, and with a scornful curl 
of her lip she said : 

“ The reason that prevented my teaching 
would probably prevent your doing so, if you 
were to become poor.” 

Ethel understood Honor’s bitter speech : she 
had no answer ready, but Janet retorted : 


134 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

‘‘It must be a great satisfaction to you, 
Honor, to imagine others as ignorant as 
yourself.” 

“ Unfortunately, imagination has nothing to 
do in this case, Janet,” Honor said in a voice 

sharp with anger. “ I know that others ” 

and she placed a scornful emphasis on that last 
word — “ are not only my equals in ignorance, 
but even surpass me.” 

Before either Janet or Ethel could reply 
to Honor, Mr. Royalston threw aside his paper 
and approached the young girls. 

“Janet and Miss Ethel,” he said, “will you 
take a walk with me this morning ^ ” 

His voice was so grave that his request 
sounded very much like a command, and as 
Honor glanced at him she felt intuitively that 
he had overheard all that had passed between 
the girls and herself. If he had heard, then 
she knew that he must disapprove of her cut- 
ting speeches, and with a feeling of intense 
mortification she went about her morning 
tasks. She passed a miserable day, and w^hen 
the twilight came and slie left her room to join 
the family in the library her face looked 
gloomy and unhappy. 

It was her duty to light the lamps about the 
house, and as she stood in the hall, near the 
open library door, she heard Mrs. Pennock say, 


NOT HERSELF. 


135 


“ Honor is late about lighting the lamps, but 
she has not seemed like herself to-day. I 
wonder what is the matter with her ? ” 

“ I am glad you say she has not seemed like 
herself/’ Mr. Royalston replied ; ‘‘ for, in my 
opinion, the self she has exhibited to-day has 
been a most unlovely one.” 

“ I am afraid Janet and Ethel have annoyed 
her,” Mrs. Pennock said gently. 

“Well,” Mr. Royalston answered, “girls are 
curious creatures, Aunt Esther, and to give 
good reasons for their actions is often as hard 
as it is to read Egyptian hieroglyphics. I do 
not defend Janet and Miss Ethel, but I think 
Miss Montgomery has manifested to-day a 
pride and bitterness in her speech and man- 
ners that would alienate her warmest friends.” 

“ Poor child,” Mrs. Pennock said compas- 
sionately, “ I am afraid she has been both dis- 
appointed and pained to-day. We must be 
patient with her, Vaughn, for she is very 
proud.” 

“ You are asking a good deal when you ask 
me to be patient with pride,” Mr. Royalston 
replied ; “for from my study of human nature, 
I have learned that pride and scorn in the heart 
are like rank weeds in a garden ; they only 
need to be cherished to destroy the fairest 
character.” 


136 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


Though Honor could not well avoid hear- 
ing that conversation — for it drifted to her 
through the open door while she was lighting 
the hall lamp — yet she certainly verified the 
old maxim that listeners never hear any good 
of themselves. If Mr. Royalston’s words had 
been arrows shot at her, they could not have 
hurt her more. It seemed impossible for a few 
moments for her to go on with her work ; but 
duty is imperative, and so, because she felt that 
she must. Honor forced herself to enter the 
library and light the lamps there. 

Her hands trembled violently, and as she 
was removing one of the handsome shades it fell 
and covered the table with pieces of broken glass. 

“ Oh dear,” she cried hopelessly, “ everything 
goes wrong to-day.” 

“ Because you are wrong yourself, I fear, 
Honor,” Mrs. Pennock said in a tone of grave 
reproof. 

“ A broken lamp shade is not of much con- 
sequence,” Mr. Royalston said kindly. 

Honor turned with a frown. “ I don’t want 
to be pitied,” she said, while she trembled with 
anger. 

Mr. Royalston looked at the excited girl for 
a second, and then turned silently away, but 
Mrs. Pennock said sternly : 

“ I think you want to find the better self 


NOT HEESELF. 


137 


that you seem to have lost to-day, Honor, and 
I advise you to go to your room. I will ex- 
cuse you from further attendance on me to- 
night.” 

Stung by Mrs. Pennock’s dismissal, without 
a word Honor left the library, and hastened to 
her own room. It was a dark and chilly 
autumn evening, and she had neither light nor 
fire, but she did not miss them. She sat down 
on a low bench, and laying her head in a cush- 
ioned chair, let all her angry and bitter feelings 
find relief in a burst of passionate tears. What 
was the matter with her? what during the 
last twenty-four hours had made her so unlike 
herself, so resentful and so ready to take and 
to give offense ? 

She was not used to self-analysis, and at first 
it was quite impossible for her to understand 
herself, or explain her state of mind. She only 
knew that she was disappointed in her school- 
mates, and that she felt slighted, and hurt, 
humiliated, and angry. But by degrees, as her 
tears ceased and she grew calmer, she began to 
see herself in a light that was as truthful as it 
was unlovely. She had felt and manifested 
bitter pride and scorn in both her looks and 
words, and in twenty-four hours there had been 
scarcely one minute in which her thoughts of 
others had been pleasant and kind. 


138 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

And why ? She shrank from answering that 
question, but she forced herself to do so. 

Simply, her conscience whispered, because 
two young and thoughtless girls had treated 
her with indifference. They had hurt and dis- 
appointed her ; they had shown little sympathy 
for her troubles, and they had — or at least she 
had chosen to fancy so — shown her plainly that 
in her present position they no longer regarded 
her as an equal. 

To see ourselves — not only as others see us, 
but as we' really are — may be a salutary experi- 
ence, but it is often times a most painful one ; 
and as Honor remembered all her angry words, 
and angrier thoughts, and recalled Mr. Royal- 
ston’s stern criticism, her tears flowed afresh. 

“ Oh,” she moaned, “it was all my pride, my 
ngly pride that made me speak so — ^but how can 
I help feeling proud ; how can I bear to go on 
living here, with Janet and Ethel, as a — -serv- 
ant.” As she asked herself that last question 
Honor fairly quivered with passion. 

Suddenly, in that strange way in which, long 
after they have been spoken, tones and words 
sometimes return to us. Honor seemed to hear 
Miss Clark saying : “ If you try to fill a humble 
place with a proud heart. Honor, you will have 
a hard time.” 

“Well,” the girl said, rebelliously, “I am. 


NOT HEKSELF. 


139 


proud, and I am having a hard time, and how 
am I to help it ? ” 

No one answered that question, but even as 
she asked it Honor’s head sank deeper in her 
cushion ; for some subtle association recalled 
just then memories of the fair June morning 
when her head had rested for the last time 
beside her father’s, and his tender voice had 
said : ‘‘ Be a good girl, my darling, and ask God 
to help you.” 

Ah, was that the secret cause of all this un- 
expected trouble, that she had forgotten to pray 
to him who is an ever-present help in time of 
trouble ? 

Swiftly, like the waters of an incoming tide, 
there rushed over Honor now memories of her 
life since the June evening when on the old 
door-step she had pledged herself to be a Chris- 
tian.. Had she kept her pledge ? No, in a sor- 
row and humiliation of heart that swallowed up 
all her pride and resentment. Honor had to con- 
fess that she had not. 

Her experience was but a type of the experi- 
ence of very many of God’s wayward children. 
Before she left her old home, while she had been 
troubled and uncertain about her future, she 
had prayed for help and she had read her Bible. 

But after she came to Pennock Manor, and 
after all the difficulties in her path were merci- 


140 IN ONE girl’s experience.. 

fully cleared away, she ceased to feel the need 
of her heavenly Father’s help. 

In her own strength she had performed her 
daily tasks ; a few sentences, hastily uttered at 
night just before she laid her head upon her pil- 
low, had satisfied her conscience about prayer, 
and in her anxiety to read and study other 
books, her Bible, except for a chapter on Sun- 
day, had not been opened in weeks. 

. Now the inevitable failure that follows such 
a course had overtaken her, and she felt con- 
demned and crushed. 

Hours passed ; she heard the family come up- 
stairs, she heard their laughing “ Good-nights ” 
as they separated, and she seemed to feel the 
hush that settled down over the old house as its 
inmates fell asleep ; and still she lay there, with 
her head in the cushioned chair, and struggled 
with her pride and passion. At last, just as the 
old clock in the hall struck twelve, she arose, 
and lighting her lamp took up her Bible. She 
turned over a few pages, and then prompted by 
some impulse she could neither resist nor define, 
she looked at the fly leaf. Her father had writ- 
ten her name there on her seventeenth birth- 
day, two years before, and beneath her name 
was written the tender entreaty with which in 
Jeremiah the Lord implores his wandering 
children to return unto him — 


NOT HERSELF. 


141 


“ Wilt thou not from this time cry unto me, 
My Father, thou art the guide of my youth ? ” 

As she read those words Honor’s pride 
yielded. It was that Father and that Guide she 
needed now. Humbled and penitent, like a 
child who after vainly trying to walk alone sub- 
missively clasps its parent’s hand, she knelt and 
gave herself anew to her heavenly Father. 

It was early morning when at last with a 
pale face but a peaceful heart she closed the 
vigil of that eventful night. She was not made 
suddenly perfect ; many a weary struggle, many 
a dark hour of pain and conflict lay before her 
in the shadowy future, but like the pilgrim of 
old, after wandering in by-path meadow, she 
had come back to the king’s highway ; and from 
that hour, though her steps were often faltering 
and slow, she walked surely onward to the 
Father’s home. 


CHAPTER IX. 


TRYING TO PLEASE. 

“Shine on ; nor heed 
Whether the object by reflected light 
Return thy radiance or absorb it quite. 

And though thou notest, from thy safe retreat, 

Old friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air, 

Love them for what they are, nor love them less, 
Because, to thee, they are not what they were.’^ 

— Coleridge. 

^HOUGH it is an easy matter, when we yield 
to pride and resentment, to raise barriers be- 
tween our associates and ourselves, it is a bitter 
truth that it is oftentimes an extremely difficult 
matter to sweep away those barriers. 

Sharp words can in a moment do a work of 
alienation that days of patient endeavor will 
scarcely avail to undo ; and this painful lesson 
Honor was compelled to learn now. 

The foolish pride that she had shown, at lit- 
tle acts that — whether designed or uninten- 
tional — were unworthy of her notice, had awak- 
ened Janet’s and Ethel’s pride, and the resent- 
ment she had manifested had aroused resent- 
ment in their hearts. 

Their foolish prejudices about her position in 

( 142 ) 


TRYING TO PLEASE. 


143 


Mrs. Pennock’s household would have been con- 
quered soon had she been true to herself and 
treated them with the pleasant friendliness of 
their schooldays. But now they not only re- 
garded her as socially their inferior, but they 
disliked her for her stinging and sarcastic words ; 
and for days they treated her with a haughty 
coldness that not only humiliated but deeply 
pained her. 

She had also to accept the sorrowful truth 
that she had forfeited Mr. Royalston’s esteem. 
He offered her neither pity nor friendship now, 
but treated her with a polite reserve that made 
her realize keenly how much she had injured 
herself in his eyes by her unlovely words and 
behavior. 

Mrs. Pennock continued to give her a card 
each morning, but when her light tasks were 
performed she was free to follow her own in- 
clinations, and Honor withdrew as much as pos- 
sible from the family, and tried to find in her 
books the pleasant interest and companionship 
that — because of her own folly— she could not 
find in her associates. 

It was a painful time, but though she often 
felt lonely and sorrowful, Honor’s prayers and 
resolves were beginning now to influence her 
character and conduct, and whenever she was 
with Janet and Ethel — though their treatment 


144 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


of her was often unkind, she showed neither 
pride nor resentment, for she felt neither. 

So the days went by, until one lovely morn- 
ing in late October Mr. Royalston said at the 
breakfast table : “ This is just the day for a long 
drive. Miss Ethel and Janet, how would you 
like to go to Maspeth ? ” 

Maspeth was the name of Mr. Royalston’s old 
home. It was a charming bat out-of-the-way 
estate that had been deeded by the Indians, for 
as long as winds should blow and waters flow,” 
to Mr. Royalston’s ancestors ; and it had de- 
scended from father to son, through the sure 
changes of the long slow years, until at last it 
fell to Mr. Royalston as the last representative 
of his family. 

It was twelve miles from Pennock Manor, but 
the road leading to it was a very beautiful one ; 
and now at his question Janet and Ethel clapped 
their hands. 

“ There isn’t a thing in the world we would 
rather do,” Ethel said gayly. 

“ Then it is the one thing we will do,” Mr. 
Royalston answered. “We will start in an 
hour, take our lunch, and have a long day at 
the old home. And now how many will go ? 
The wagon will carry four, and a vacant seat in 
a carriage on a pleasure trip always looks sel- 


TRYING TO PLEASE 


145 


fish to me ; so we must have that fourth seat oc- 
cupied.” 

Janet and Ethel turned quickly to Mrs. Pen- 
nock. “ You will go, won’t you, Aunt Es- 
ther ? ” they coaxed. 

“ No, thank you,” Mrs. Pennock said. “ I am 
too old to enjoy jolting for twelve miles over a 
rough road in pursuit of pleasure.” 

Janet looked at Mr. Royalston. “ You will 
have to pick up some weary pedestrian along 
the way, Vaughn,” she said. 

“ If we cannot do better,” Mr. Royalston an- 
swered. “ Perhaps,” and he looked at Honor, 
“Miss Montgomery would enjoy the ride.” 

Honor’s face brightened, for she was very 
fond of driving. “ Thank you, I should enjoy 
it very much,” she said impulsively, but even as 
she spoke she heard a low but expressive, Oh 
dear,” from Janet. 

Hastily she raised her cup of coffee to her 
lips, and with the coffee she swallowed a pang 
of keen regret ; then with a sobered face she 
looked at Mr. Royalston, and said, “ I forgot. 
My duties always keep me at home in the morn- 
ing.” 

“ And they cannot be set aside even for a 
pleasure excursion?” Mr. Royalston asked 
kindly. 

Honor shook her head. “ I think not,” she 

lU 


146 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

said, and turning to Mrs. Pennock she extended 
her hand. 

“ May I have my card ? ” she asked with a 
faint smile. 

Mr. Royalston looked at her for an instant. 
He had caught Janet’s little exclamation, and 
he had noticed the shadow that saddened 
Honor’s face. He was quick to observe ; to draw 
his own deductions, and to come to decisions. 
Honor’s struggles and victories during the past 
few days had not been altogether unperceived, 
and now he turned to Mrs. Pennock. 

“Aunt Esther,” he said, “ I think you must 
be the judge here. Has Miss Montgomery any 
duties to-day of such importance that she can- 
not accompany us on this drive? Stop,” he 
ordered playfully, as he saw that Honor was 
about to speak, “ as there can be no appeal 
from the judge’s decision, there must be no 
attempt to influence it. Now, Aunt Esther, 
decide.” 

Mrs. Pennock looked at the little card in her 
hand. “ Has any one a pencil ? ” she asked. 

“ Here,” Mr. Royalston said, as he handed 
her his pencil, “I always try to be ready for 
an emergency.” 

Mrs. Pennock looked at Honor’s crimson and 
sad face for a moment ; then she drew a mark 
across the words already written on the card, 


TRYING TO PLEASE. 


147 


turned it, wrote a few words, and handed it to 
Honor. 

“ Here,” she said kindly, but with a peculiar 
emphasis, “ I shall be satisfied if you perform 
these duties well to-day, Honor.” 

Honor looked at the card. It was written 
with the usual formality and. read : 

Honor Montgomery, duties for October 25th. 

1st. She will go to Maspeth. 

2nd. She will be as pleasant as it is in her power to be. 

3rd. She will give all the pleasure to others that she is 
able to give. 

4th. She will accept all the pleasure that others try to 
give her. 

5th. She will believe that her pleasure is desired. 

6th. She will suspect no slights. 

“Well,” Mr. Royalston asked, after waiting 
a moment for Honor to look up and speak, “ is 
it decided. Miss Montgomery, has the judge 
been merciful ? ” 

Honor could not answer. The reproof, so 
skillfully administered, almost unnerved her, 
and the saddest part of the reproof was that she 
had to acknowledge to herself that she had 
merited it. It seemed to her that she never 
could look up and speak again, but when Janet 
asked impatiently, “ Why don’t you speak. 
Honor, are you going?” she forced herself to 
answer, “Yes — I believe so — though — ” and 


148 


IN ONE GIKL S EXPERIENCE. 


now she looked imploringly at Mrs. Pennock, 
“ I think it would be better for me to stay at 
home.” 

‘‘ Nonsense,” Mrs. Pennock said briskly, “ a 
girl who hasn’t spirit enough to enjoy a drive 
this lovely day is too dull to be allowed to stay 
at home. Go and get ready.” 

“ Wait a minute,” Mrs. Pennock ordered as 
Honor started to obey her, ‘‘ you must see about 
the lunch. Honor. You can take anything you 
like. Maggie will help you prepare it.” 

With a quiet “ Very well,” Honor proceeded 
to the kitchen. Maggie the cook was very 
ready to assist her, and tongue-sandwiches, and 
hard boiled eggs, olives, jelly, and cake were 
quickly gathered together. 

‘‘ Now is there anything else we can take ? ” 
Honor asked doubtfully as she began to pack 
her basket. 

‘‘Wall, an’ shure,” Maggie answered, “ye 
can’t have chickens — there ain’t no time to 
prepare them. But, Miss Honor darlint, we 
have some of the beautifulest oysters. Now 
how would ye like them ?” 

“Raw?” Honor said dubiously. 

“ Wall, and shure,” Maggie replied, “ there’s 
plenty as would like ’em raw, but the young 
ladies, ’specially Miss Ethel, is very fond of 
stews.” 


TRYING TO PLEASE. 


149 


“But we will need a fire to make a stew,” 
Honor objected. 

“An’ if ye do, can’t ye have one? Ye’re 
goin’ to Mr. Royalston’s old home, ain’t ye ? 
There’s plenty of fire-places there, and ye can 
take matches and paper, an’ pick up plenty of 
dry stuff from the old wood-pile.” 

Honor did not care for the oy«ters, and she 
knew all the trouble of preparing them would 
fall upon herself, but Janet and Ethel would 
enjoy them, and that thought decided her. 

“ I will do what I can to give them pleasure,” 
she silently promised, and aloud she said, 
“ Very well, Maggie, I will take the oysters.” 

“ Ye are shure ye know how to cook ’em ? ” 
Maggie said as she brought the oysters. 

“ If I don’t, I can learn in a few minutes,” 
Honor said as she took a cook book from a 
shelf close by. 

Maggie looked at her with admiring eyes. 
“ The ladies with their cook books will soon 
be wiser than their cooks,” she said prophetic- 
ally. “ But, Miss Honor, if ye’re goin’ to have 
a fire ye might have coffee. Mr. Royalston is 
very fond of coffee, ye know.” 

“ Then he shall have it,” Honor answered. 

“I s’pose y'e know how to make it?” Maggie 
said, as she produced a bright tin coffee pot. 
“ If there’s anything poorer than poor coffee. 


150 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


Miss Honor, it isn’t meself that knows what it 
is.” 

“ I never made a cup of coffee in my life,” 
Honor acknowledged. 

‘‘ Wall, then. I’ll tell ye how,” Maggie said, 
with the interest of a good teacher. “Here, 
Miss Honor, ye jest put a full cup of coffee in 
this pot, an’ an egg and a scant teaspoonful of 
molasses — that is a trick I learned from an old 
Frenchman — ” Maggie explained as Honor 
looked surprised at the mention of molasses — 
“ it ain’t everybody that knows it, but them that 
do, know that there ain’t nothin’ like it to make 
beautiful amber-colored coffee. Now, Miss 
Honor, you jest stir that all up with a little cold 
water, then fill the pot with boiling water and 
set it on the fire and let it boil. An’ when it’s 
settled don’t ye ever ask me for another receipt 
if Mr. Royalston don’t say that’s good coffee.” 

Honor laughed as she packed the coffee pot 
in her basket. “ If I learn how to make an 
oyster stew and good coffee to-day, I shan’t 
feel that the day is lost — not even if it should 
be very disagreeable,” she said soberly to her- 
self as she left the kitchen. The light spring- 
wagon was before the door when Honor 
appeared on the piazza, and Mr. Royalston and 
Janet and Ethel were waiting for her. 

“ Now,” Janet said, “ the important question 


TRYING TO PLEASE. 


151 


is, how are we going to sit ? Ethel, will you 
sit with Honor on the back seat ? ” 

Ethel’s face changed. “ I think you are the 
one to sit with Honor, Janet,” she said, you 
know you are more afraid of horses than I 
am.” 

“I don’t know any such thing, Ethel,” Janet 
said sharply, “ and I think you ought to sit 
with Honor, for you tire sooner than I do, and 
the back seat is more comfortable than the 
front one.” 

“ Are we all ready ? ” Mr. Royalston, who 
had been examining the harness asked now. 
‘‘ Miss Montgomery,” and he looked smilingly 
at Honor, *‘have you any choice about your 
seat ? ” 

“ No,” Honor said with something like a sigh. 

“ Can you drive ? ” 

“ Yes,” she answered in the same sober voice. 

‘‘ Then will you sit with the driver and share 
his responsibility? Janet, and Miss Ethel, will 
you take the back seat ? ” 

Without a word Honor sprang into the wagon 
and took the front seat, but Janet and Ethel 
lingered on the piazza. 

‘‘Cousin Vaughn, please come here,” Janet 
called, and as Mr. Royalston obeyed her, she 
said in a low voice, “ I don’t see what you 
mean. You know both Ethel and I wanted 


152 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

that front seat. Why have you put Honor 
there ? ” 

‘‘ Neither you nor Miss Ethel wanted to sit 
with her,” Mr. Royalston answered. 

‘‘ No, of course we didn't. We have had 
enough of her pride and sarcasm,” Janet 
returned. 

“Then what could I do?” Mr. Royalston 
asked. “ I have seated Miss Montgomery where 
I thought she would give the least annoyance 
to anyone.” 

In the stillness of the autumn morning every 
word of that low conversation was distinctly 
heard by Honor. Again, for the second time 
since breakfast, her color rose, and she was 
thankful that the drooping hat she wore 
shielded her face. Without further argument 
Janet and Ethel took the back seat, Mr. Roy- 
alston touched his horses and they trotted 
along at a good pace over the delightful coun- 
try road. 

Under different circumstances, Honor, who 
had a quick eye for all that was- beautiful in 
nature, would have been enraptured with the 
loveliness of that red-leaf October morning. 
But now, though the maples along the roadside 
flamed with Are and glowed with gold, they 
won no word of admiration from her. Tiny- 
brooks, at intervals, rippled across the road, 


TRYING TO PLEASE. 


153 


and then wandered off to lose themselves in 
the rich pasture fields that lay beyond; but 
Honor did not see them. Lovely cloud flakes 
drifted across the sky, and made wondrous 
light and shadow pictures, but she did not 
notice them. She was fairly bewildered with 
pain. 

Oh, how could they talk so? she thought 
mournfully. Am I really so disagreeable that 
my very presence annoys them? Will they 
never forgive and forget my hasty words ? 

She was too humble in her pain to remember 
any of the slights and provocations she had re- 
ceived from Janet and Ethel; she did not try, 
even in her most secret thoughts, to excuse 
herself. She owned that she had been wrong, 
but her punishment seemed very severe to the 
poor child, and she sorrowfully wondered how 
she was to live through the long day before her. 

Suddenly she remembered her card, and 
recalled its second duty — to give all the pleas- 
ure that she could. It did not seem likely that 
she would receive pleasure, but could she give 
any ? In the face of Janet’s and Ethel’s open 
dislike the possibility of her being able to give 
them pleasure seemed very doubtful to Honor ; 
but before they reached Maspeth she had firmly 
resolved, at any cost to herself, to do what she 
could to add to their happiness. 


154 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

With her mind full of these questions and 
resolves, Mr. Royalstori found her during their 
long drive a very quiet companion, and when 
he checked his horses before the door of his 
old home, he said playfully : 

‘‘ Silence is golden, the Scotch philosopher 
says. Miss Montgomery ; but one can sometimes 
have too much of it, and now, for the rest of 
this day, you must give us speech of silver.” 

‘‘ I will give you something better,” Honor 
promised, as she sprang lightly from the wagon, 
‘‘ if you will show me the way to the kitchen, 
and help me to carry in that basket.” 

‘‘ The kitchen is at the back of the house,” 
Mr. Royalston answered. “And this basket. 
Miss Montgomery, will get there without your 
help.” 

“ Very well, I can follow it,” Honor said, as 
Mr. Royalston lifted the basket and marched 
away with it. 

“We must go through the house before we 
have lunch,” Mr. Royalston said, as he unlocked 
a door and ushered them all into the large and 
sunny kitchen, and leaving the basket on a 
table he led the way through a confusing maze 
of rooms and dark passages. It was all novel 
and interesting to Honor, and there was some- 
thing in the old house, that through many long 
years had been a happy home, and was now so 


TBYING TO PLEASE. 


155 


silent and deserted, that awakened vivid mem- 
ories of her own past life ; but she was intent 
on giving pleasure that day, and watching her 
opportunity she soon slipped away from the 
others and groped her way back to the kitchen. 

Her first need was a fire. The fireplace was 
large but empty, and Honor went in search of 
the wood pile. She soon found it and though 
long years had passed since the last load of 
wood had been cut there, she found dry sticks 
and chips enough to answer her purpose. 
Armed with these she went back to the kitchen 
found her paper and matches, and attempted 
to make the fire. Her paper burned furiously, 
and one great piece went soaring triumphantly 
up the great chimney, but the chips would not 
blaze, and only blinding whiffs of smoke re- 
warded her efforts. She was kneeling on the 
hearth and trying with her mouth, in the ab- 
sence of a pair of bellows, to coax a blaze when 
some one near her said : 

“ If you please, Miss Montgomery, will you 
tell me what you are trying to do? ” 

“I am not very good at acting if you can’t 
read the charade,” Honor said laughingly. I 
am trying to make a fire.” 

Is it necessary ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then let me try,” and gently pushing her 


156 IN ONE GIEL S EXPERIENCE. 

aside, Mr. Royalston took the fire into his own 
care. 

“There,” he said, when in a few moments 
the flames were leaping up the chimney, “you 
see what a philosopher can do, Miss Mont- 
gomery.” 

Honor’s grave eyes flashed. “Yes, I see,” 
she said, “ and now if you will leave me in pos- 
session of this kitchen I will soon show you 
what a woman can do.” 

“ As I have no doubt of your ability it is not 
necessary for me to go away,” Mr. Royalston 
answered. “Pray, is this basket to be un- 
packed ? ” 

“ Yes, but ” 

“ Well, what hinders our unpacking it then ? ” 
* Honor grew desperate. “ Won’t you please 
go ? ” she said anxiously. “ I don’t want Janet 
and Ethel to come until everything is ready.” 

Mr. Royalston still lingered. “ The girls 
ought to help you,” he said. 

“ No,” Honor answered with a little shake of 
her head, “ I would rather get the lunch alone. 
I want to have my own way.” 

“ I am sure I think you are having your own 
way when you banish me from this kitchen; at 
any rate I know I am not having mine,” Mr. 
Royalston said laughingly. “ However, madam, 
in the words of the old Roman, I go, but I re- 


TRYING TO PLEASE. 


157 


turn,” and with a gay bow, to Honor’s great 
relief, he departed. 

When a little later, drawn by the fragrant 
fumes of coffee that had penetrated through 
the house, Mr. Royalston with Janet and Ethel 
returned to the kitchen, Honor’s preparations 
were nearly completed. The table was spread 
with a tempting supply of sandwiches, and 
cakes, olives, jelly and fruit, the coffee pot was 
standing on the hearth, and Honor was bend- 
ing over the fire, anxiously watching the cook- 
ing of her oysters. 

“ Oh,” Janet exclaimed as she glanced at the 
table, “how delicious that lunch looks. Is it 
ready. Honor? What are you doing? ” 

“ Burning her face, I should say,” Mr. Roy- 
alston replied. “ Miss Montgomery — ” as he 
saw Honor’s motion — “is that kettle ready to 
leave the fire ? ” 

Honor nodded. “ Then stand aside.” And 
Mr. Royalston laughingly placed the kettle on 
the hearth. 

“What is in it?” Ethel asked. “Oh, oys- 
ters,” she almost shouted, as she came near and 
peered curiously into the kettle. “ Why, 
Honor,” she said, “ I heard you say yesterday 
that you did not like oysters ; have you taken 
all this trouble for us ? ” 

Only those, who have suffered like Honor 


158 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

from not being understood and appreciated, 
can understand the keen pleasure Ethel’s words 
gave her. She could have cried from joy, but 
she managed to say calmly, ‘‘It was no trouble. 
I wanted to do it.” 

Mr. Royalston stood by, watching and un- 
derstanding all that was passing, and now he 
came to Honor’s assistance with the matter-of- 
fact question, “ Miss Montgomery, where are 
your soup plates ? ” 

“ Why,” Honor said, as she rushed to the 
basket, “ I do believe 1 forgot them.” 

Mr. Royalston laughed at Honor’s look of 
dismay. “ Things are seldom so bad that they 
cannot be remedied,” he said. “ Somewhere 
in this house there is a closet well-stocked with 
dishes. Come Janet and Miss Ethel, let us go 
and find some soup plates.” 

An hour later, while they were still lingering 
over their lunch, Ethel said, “ Mr. Royalston, 
you have some of the loveliest old china I ever 
saw in that closet. Why don’t you live here ? ” 

“For the express purpose of using that 
china ? ” Mr.' Royalston asked, as for the third 
time he passed his cup to Honor to be filled. 

“Well, that would be one of the pleasures 
of living here, but it wouldn’t be the only one. 
Why don’t you live here, Mr. Royalston ? ” 

“ Too lonely. A man has no right to make 


TRYING TO PLEASE. 


159 


a hermit of himself, even though by doing so 
he can use old china,” Mr. Royalston answered. 

“ Do you really mean that you don’t think it 
would be right for you to live here ? ” Ethel 
asked in a surprised voice, while Janet said 
quickly, “Hasn’t a man a right to do whatever 
he pleases with his own ? ” 

“ What do you mean by his own ? ” 

“ Why everything that belongs to him, his 
time, his money, his houses.” 

Mr. Royalston looked for a minute at the 
three bright faces before him. Then he said 
pleasantly, “ Before I give you my opinion I 
would like yours. Miss Ethel, let me begin 
with you. Being what I am, a young man, 
strong, educated, and capable of working and 
of helping my fellow-men, have I any right to 
make an Alexander Selkirk of myself, and live 
here almost ^ out of humanity’s reach ’? ” 

“ I don’t know why not if you wanted to,” 
Ethel pouted. “I don’t think idleness is any 
sin when one has plenty of money.” 

“Well,” and Mr. Royalston turned to his 
cousin, “ Janet, what do you say? ” 

“I say you ought to live here,” Janet said 
with spirit. “ You have no right to neglect 
such a beautiful, old, ancestral home as Mas- 
peth.” 

“ I don’t neglect it ; but we will let that pass. 


160 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

Now Miss Montgomery, we want your view of 
this important question.” 

“ I hardly know what my view is,” Honor 
said thoughtfully. I should think one would 
love to live here, but still oughtn’t one to ” 

“ Well, what ? ” 

“ Live where one can be most useful.” 

“ Oh,” Ethel said impatiently, “ that is per- 
fect cant. Honor.” 

“Yes,” Janet chimed in, “it is nothing but 
priggishness. Who wouldn’ t live at ease if they 
could ? ” 

Honor’s face was touching in its humility. 
“ I know I would love to live at ease, if I 
could,” she confessed, “ but, Janet, the question 
is not what one would like to do, it is what 
would be right for one to do : and ought not 
those who are young and strong to live where 
they can do the most good ? ” 

“ Pray, how long is it since you have thought 
so much of doing what is right ? ” Janet asked 
in a voice sharp with scorn. 

“ It is just two weeks,” Honor said gravely. 

For a moment impressed, by something in her 
face and voice, both Janet and Ethel looked cu- 
riously at Honor. Then with a careless laugh 
’Ethel said, “What do you mean. Honor; do 
you mean that you have, as they say in revivals, 
experienced religion ? ” 


TRYING TO PLEASE. 


161 


“ Yes,” Janet added scornfully, “ do you mean 
that you have turned from your evil ways, 
Honor, and been converted ? ” 

' Just then, to Honor’s great relief, Mr. Royal- 
ston left the table, and going to the open door 
stood there looking out in apparent indifference 
to all that was passing around him. For a sec- 
ond, while her heart beat fast Honor looked at 
Janet and Ethel. Did they really care for her 
answer ; ought she to give it to them ? 

While she hesitated, the girls watched her, 
and now Janet said in a sarcastic tone : “ Are 
you afraid to explain your meaning. Honor ? 
Why don’t you show your colors ? I wouldn’t 
be ashamed of them, if I were you.” 

“ I am not ashamed of them,” Honor said in 
a tremulous but earnest voice. “ Janet and 
Ethel, I owe you an apology. I was very rude 
to you when you first came. It roused my 
pride and made me bitter to be a servant 
where you were visitors ; but now I am* trying 
to be a Christian, and I do want — more than 
I want anything else in this world — to do 
right.” 

“Well,” Janet said sharply, “you need not 
think you are singular in your desires. Honor, 
or better, than others. Ethel and I want to do 
right just as much as you do.” 

“Do you and Miss Ethel want to be Chris- 
11 


162 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

tians?” Mr. Royalston asked, as he suddenly- 
turned around and looked at Janet. 

Ethel’s face crimsoned. “ What is a Chris- 
tian ? ” she asked. 

Mr. Royalston turned to Honor. ‘‘ Will you 
tell us,” he asked gently, “ what you mean by 
trying to be a Christian ? ” 

It was an effort for Honor to speak. She 
could not look up and meet the keen gaze of the 
eyes that were watching her, but in a voice 
that, though it was very low they all heard 
plainly, she said : 

“ I mean trying to please God, and be like 
Jesus.” 

Mr. Royalston bowed his head. “Amen,” 
he said reverently, “may God give us all 
strength to do so.” 


CHAPTER X. 


OLD CHINA. 

“ God in thee, can his children’s folly gall ? 

Love may be hurt, but shall not love he strong? ” 
George Macdonald, 

“ pOUSIN VAUGHN,” Janet said, breaking 
^ the pause that had followed her cousin’s 
last words, “how much longer can we stay 
here ? ” 

Mr. Royalston looked at his watch. “ It is 
one o’clock,” he said. “If we leave here at 
half-past three we will reach home in the early 
twilight. Will that do ? ” 

“ Yes,” Janet answered. “ That will give 
me a couple of hours for drawing. There is a 
little sketch I have set my heart on making. 
Will you and Ethel come with me ? ” 

“And Miss Montgomery?” Mr. Royalston 
added. 

“ No,” Honor said. “ I am in charge of our 
domestic department to-day, and I cannot go 
out until I have put everything in as good or- 
der as I found it.” 

“Well,” Ethel said, “it is stupid work to 

( 163 ) 


164 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

watch Janet sketch, so I will stay and help 
you, Honor.” 

Please yourself,” Mr. Royalston said. ‘‘ It 
ought not to take many minutes for four quick 
hands to bring order out of the modest confu- 
sion reigning here. I will go and settle Janet 
at her sketching and then return to you. You 
need be very careful about nothing but my old 
china,” he said a few minutes later as he stood 
on the door-step. “ That was my great-great 
grandmother’s, and it is more precious than 
gold, for gold could never replace it.” 

I know the value of old china,” Ethel an- 
swered : “ You need not be afraid to trust it 

to me.” 

Left alone the two young girls worked with 
quick and skillful hands, and in a few minutes 
the fragments of their lunch were gathered up 
and the basket repacked. 

“ Now we have only to wash this lovely old 
china ; really it is so exquisite that it is a pleas- 
ure to handle it,” Ethel said as she reached 
for the pile of plates. 

“ Be careful, Ethel,” Honor said anxiously. 
“ Remember, if they are broken they never can 
be replaced.” 

‘‘ There is no danger of my breaking them,” 
Ethel answered. “ Let me have that pitcher of 


OLD CHINA. 


165 


hot water and a towel, Honor, and I will soon 
dispose of them.” 

Honor brought the pitcher of hot water and 
set it on the table. “ Do be careful, Ethel,” she 
said again, as Ethel placed the pile of plates 
dangerously near the edge of the table, and 
then reached out her hands for the pitcher. The 
next instant, with a crash that drove the color 
from the faces of the frightened girls, the pitcher 
and plates fell from Ethel’s hands, and the hot 
water in the pitcher splashed over Honor’s 
dress, and then ran in tiny streams along the 
j floor, leaving Ethel untouched. 

“ O Ethel, what have you done ? how did it 
happen ? ” Honor asked in despair as she 
looked down on the shivered china. 

Ethel burst into tears. “I don’t know,” she 
sobbed. “ The pitcher was so hot I couldn’t hold 
it. I don’t think I ought to be blamed. It was 
more your fault than mine, Honor, you ought 
not to have given me such hot water.” 

“ I supposed you had sense enough to take the 
pitcher up by its handle,” Honor said severely. 
“Oh,” she said the next instance as she stooped 
to pick up the broken plates, “ what shall we 
do ; how can we tell Mr. Royalston ? ” 

Ethel watched her without speaking for a 
few seconds ; then in a quick, strained voice 
she exclaimed, “ Honor.” 


166 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“ What ? ” Honor asked shortly. 

“ I want to tell you what we can do,” Ethel 
said nervously. “ There is no one in this house 
but you and me, Honor ; and if we don’t tell 
no one need ever know that the china was 
broken. We will throw the pieces away, and 
Mr. Royalston will think we have put the plates 
back in the closet. He will never miss them, 
and there never will be any trouble about them. 
‘‘ Honor, you will do it, won’t you ? ” 

“ Do what ? ” Honor asked, as if she did not 
fully understand Ethel’s proposal. 

“ Why just throw these broken plates away 
and say nothing about them. You will do so, 
Honor, won’t you? it will be best for us 
both.” 

Honor finished picking up the broken dishes 
and placed them on the table ; then she stood 
up and looked at Ethel. 

“Ethel,” she said, “you surely do not want 
to deceive Mr. Royalston.” 

“He won’t thank me for telling him the 
truth,” Ethel said angrily. 

“ Still you must tell him the truth,” Honor 
insisted. “You cannot do anything else.” 

“ I can and I will do something else,” Ethel 
said. “ You don’t know Mr. Royalston, Honor, 
you don’t know how severe he can be when he 
is angry.” 


OLD CHINA. 


167 


“ He isn’t a wolf,” Honor said coldly. “ He 
wouldn’t eat you up, Ethel.” 

A sudden thought struck Ethel. She looked 
at Honor for a moment, and then said, ‘‘ You 
would tell him, if you were in my place, would 
you ? ” 

“ Yes, I would,” Honor said firmly. 

Then tell him now,” Ethel retorted. “ Put 
yourself in my place in reality. Honor, and tell 
Mr. Royalston you broke his china, will you ? ” 

“ No, that would be only exchanging one 
falsehood for another, Ethel ; ” Honor continued 
seriously, “ this is your affair. You broke the 
china, and you ought to confess it. I am not 
responsible for the accident, and I do not want 
to say anything about it, but I would sooner 
break every dish in Mr. Royalston’s closet than 
deceive him, and I will not even connive at 
deceiving him. If you will not tell him the 
truth, I will.” 

“Yes, that will be acting like a Christian, 
won’t it?” Ethel said bitterly. “It is always 
easier for Christians to confess the wrongdoings 
of others, than it is to acknowledge their own.” 

Ethel’s taunt wounded Honor deeply ; she 
could not speak at once and while she was 
silent, subtile and confusing questions began to 
trouble her. 

Ethel had broken the china ; had she any right 


168 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

to interfere with Ethel’s after conduct ? would 
it be kind to reveal what Ethel wished to con- 
ceal ? but then on the other hand had she any 
right to stand silently by and allow Mr. Royal- 
ston to be deceived. 

‘‘ Oh dear,” she said, “ I do wish I knew what 
I ought to do. Ethel, you will tell Mr. Royal- 
ston, won’t you ? ” 

Ethel’s face changed. “ Yes,” she said in a 
peculiar voice, “ I will tell Mr. Royalston, but 
you must promise to say nothing. You must 
let me tell my story in my own way.” 

“ Yes,” Honor said willingly, “ I will promise 
to remain silent. Only tell him : the way in 
which you tell him will matter very little.” 

Ethel did not answer ; she stood beside the 
table looking down on the broken plates. Her 
color came and went, and her lips were com- 
pressed. Honor pitied her, but knew not how 
to help her, and it was a great relief when Mr. 
Royalston’s form darkened the door-way. 

Are you ready for me ? ” he asked pleas- 
antly. ‘‘ Ah,” he said, as the next instant his 
keen eyes fell on the broken plates. “ My 
grandmother’s china has met with an accident, 
I see. How did it happen ? ” 

Ethel made a quick movement to attract his 
attention. “ Mr. Royalston,” she said, “ I want 
to tell you. Honor filled the pitcher with boil- 


OLD CHINA. 


169 


ing water, it was too hot to hold ; it fell and 
hit the plates.” 

Honor’s amazement as she listened to Ethel’s 
explanation was indescribable. Ethel told no 
outright falsehood, she stated the facts as they 
had occurred ; but she omitted one or two im- 
portant little pronouns, and Honor, to her 
intense confusion and distress, found herself 
made responsible in Mr. Royalston’s sight for 
the destruction of his precious china. In her 
surprise and bewilderment, she could not 
attempt to defend or exonerate herself. She 
could only look in astonishment at Ethel ; while 
her wet dress and crimson face confirmed the 
impression Ethel had so artfully contrived to 
give. 

Mr. Royalston was silent for a few moments ; 
then he took up the broken plates, and stand- 
ing on the door-step tossed them far off into the 
bay that flowed a short distance from the house. 
That done, he stepped back into the kitchen 
and looked smilingly at Honor. 

“ The old china is out of sight now,” he said 
kindly, “ and we will put it out of our minds 
as well. Accidents will happen, and you must 
not blame yourself for this one. Miss Mont- 
gomery — I am sure it was unavoidable.” 

“ Ethel,” Honor said pleadingly, ‘‘ Ethel, do 
please — ” and then the tears she was trying to 


170 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

suppress choked her voice and more words 
were impossible. 

A little surprised, Mr. Royalston looked at 
Ethel. She was equal to the emergency. 
“ Honor dreaded your displeasure so much,” 
she said, “ it is such a relief to find you so 
kind.” 

For the first time Mr. Royalston looked an- 
noyed. I wonder what I have done to make 
you think me such an ogre, Miss Montgomery,” 
he said, “ and I really would like to know what 
you expected me to do about that china. Did 
you expect me to scold you like a tyrant ? 
Well,” he continued in a lighter tone, ‘‘I 
certainly shall scold you if you look unhappy 
another moment. Stop,” he said almost sternly, 
as Honor attempted to speak, “this is too 
much like making mountains of mole-hills; 
don’t say another word about this insignificant 
affair. It doesn’t pain me half as much to 
have my china broken, as it pains me to be 
doubted and thought unkind.’^ 

After these words it was impossible for 
Honor to speak. She turned silently away and 
busied herself with two or three little things 
that still remained to be done. Mr. Royalston 
was surprised and disappointed; he could not 
understand her behavior ; he made several kind 
attempts to interest her in conversation, but 


OLD CHINA. 


171 


Honor was too troubled to respond ; and pres- 
ently he turned from her and for the remainder 
of their day in Maspeth he troubled her with 
few words. 

One last attempt that night Honor made to 
influence Ethel. 

‘‘ Ethel,” she said, when in the early evening 
she met Ethel alone in the hall, “ I can hardly 
believe that you meant to wrong me as you did 
to-day. I don’t think you realized the position 
you placed me in. Did you ? ” and she waited 
anxiously for Ethel’s answer. 

Ethel did not keep her waiting long. “I 
wish,” she said angrily, “ I wish, Honor Mont- 
gomery, that you would choose some other sub- 
ject to talk about. I never want to speak of 
that old china again.” 

‘‘But you wronged me,” Honor insisted. 
“ You gave Mr. Royalston a false impression.” 

“ Why didn’t you correct it then ? You are 
not deficient in language.” 

“ You took me so completely by surprise,” 
Honor said sadly. “ Ethel,” she pleaded, “ won’t 
you tell Mr. Royalston the truth about his 
china?” 

“ Tell him that I broke it ? ” Ethel said 
quickly. “ No, thank you. Honor. I will do 
nothing of the kind. I don’t know why you 
should care so much, if he does think you broke 


172 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

it,” the girl added jealously, “ I am sure he was 
very kind to you.” 

“ Yes, I know he was,” Honor admitted, 
‘‘ but still, it makes me very unhappy to have 
him think that I broke his china.” 

“Well, do you suppose it would add to my 
happiness to have him know that I broke it ? ” 
Ethel asked sarcastically. 

“ Yes,” Honor said firmly. “I am sure you 
would be happier if he knew. You cannot be 
very happy now with a falsehood on your con- 
science.” 

“ I told no falsehood. I only omitted one or 
two words,” Ethel said sharply. “ Why don’t 
you tell him yourself ? ” she demanded in an 
excited voice. 

“I don’t know,” Honor said slowly. “I sup- 
pose I might tell him, but ” 

“ Yes,” Ethel broke in, “ you might, and I 
should think you would tell him. You haven’t 
lost his good opinion, though he does suppose 
you broke the dishes ; but now if you were to 
tell him that I broke them he would scorn me 
for my cowardice and deceit. Oh yes, go and 
tell him ; it would be kind and Christian-like 
to do so.” 

Honor stood still a minute. Ethel’s last 
bitter words seemed to place the matter in a 
new light. She thought seriously for that min- 


OLD CHINA. 


173 


ute, and then she said : “ Ethel, I suppose this 

affair really concerns you and me alone. Mr. 
Royalston was not deceived about his china, 
and he would probably care very little whether 
it slipped from your hands or mine. It pains 
me to have him think I broke it, but the break- 
ing was only an accident, there was no sin about 
it, and so I can bear the pain — if I must.” 

“ And you won’t tell him, nor Mrs. Fen- 
nock?” Ethel interrupted eagerly. “O Honor, 
I will love you forever if you won’t.” 

Honor’s smile, like her words, was tinged 
with bitterness. I am afraid your love, like 
your truthfulness, would be unsafe to depend 
upon, Ethel,” she said, “but you may depend 
upon my silence. I will never undeceive Mr. 
Royalston.” 

“ Hark,” Ethel exclaimed as just then a 
peculiar creaking noise sounded very near them. 
“ What was that?” 

“I don’t know,” Honor answered indiffer- 
ently ; “ a mouse, perhaps. Good-night, Ethel,” 
she added as she turned away, “ I hope you 
never will be as disappointed in anyone’s truth- 
fulness as I have been in yours.” 

The next morning at the breakfast table Mrs. 
Pennock said : “ I wish you would give me a 

full account of your excursion yesterday, 
Vaughn. What I heard last evening was very 


174 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

unsatisfactory; for you were writing, Janet was 
dumb about everything but her sketch, Honor 
was in her room, and Ethel was as dull as if 
she had been out all day in a rain storm instead 
of on a pleasure excursion. Now, Vaughn, you 
can generally tell a straight-forward story. 
What did you do yesterday ? ” 

Mr. Royalston smiled. ‘‘Just what we 
planned. Aunt Esther. We went to Maspeth, 
and we returned home.” 

“ And in the between-time what happened? ” 

“Various things, Aunt Esther. Perhaps the 
event some of us will remember longest was 
the breaking of some of Grandmother Royal- 
ston’s china.” 

“ What,” Mrs. Pennock exclaimed, “ not some 
of the set your great-great grandfather brought 
from Dresden, Vaughn?” 

“ Yes, the very same. Aunt Esther.” 

“ And you brought out some of those dishes 
for these careless girls to handle ? ” Mrs. Pen- 
nock said severely. “ Well, you may be scien- 
tific, Vaughn, but you certainly are not sensible. 
How were they broken ? ” 

Mr. Royalston hesitated a second, then he 
said quietly, “Ask Miss Ethel, Aunt Esther.” 

“ Why ask her ? Were hers the clumsy hands 
that broke them ? ” 

Mr. Royalston glanced at Ethel. “ Will you 


OLD CHINA. 


175 


answer that question, Miss Ethel ? ” he said 
calmly. 

Ethel’s face was flame color. “ I thought I 
answered it yesterday,” she said hurriedly. 

“ You have no additional facts to give us this 
morning ? ” 

“ No, why should I have ?” 

“ If you cannot answer your own question 
then of course I cannot answer it,” Mr. Royal- 
ston said coolly. “ Miss Montgomery,” and to 
Honor’s dismay he looked at her, “ will you tell 
Aunt Esther how that old china — that is in a 
fair way now, I think, to become famous — was 
broken?” 

Honor felt tongue-tied. The promise she had 
given Ethel made it impossible for her to 
comply with Mr. Royalston’s request. 

“I cannot add anything to Ethel’s state- 
ment,” she faltered. 

‘‘Then be good enough — somebody — ^to tell 
me what Ethel’s statement was,” Mrs. Pennock 
said impatiently. 

“ It was to this effect. Aunt Esther, that a 
pitcher of hot water dropped accidentally and 
broke the china.” 

“Pitchers don’t drop without hands. Ethel, 
who dropped that pitcher, you or Honor ? ” 

The direct question Ethel had been dreading, 
was asked at last, and to it she must give a direct 


176 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


reply. It had not been very difScult for Ethel 
to suppress part of the truth. Evasions and 
prevarications she was unfortunately often 
guilty of, but a positive falsehood she did shrink 
from uttering. But a white lie usually needs 
to be bolstered up by a black one, and Ethel 
knew now that she must make a humiliating 
confession or tell an undeniable untruth. She 
was loath to speak, but she remembered Honor’s 
promise and felt secure ; and so, though her 
eyes fell and her voice trembled a little, she 
answered after a moment’s hesitation, “ Honor’s. 

“Honor’s,” Mrs. Pennock repeated. “Honor,” 
she said reprovingly, “how could you be so 
careless ? ” 

Poor Honor, between her great desire to free 
herself from blame and her conscientious pur- 
pose to keep her promise to Ethel, had great 
difficulty in answering Mrs. Pennock. “I 
meant to be careful,” she stammered ; and then 
she realized that by those very words she had 
confirmed Ethel’s story, and she stopped in con- 
fusion. 

“You meant to be careful,” Mrs. Pennock 
repeated sternly. “ Yes, I suppose you did ; 
but good intentions are poor excuses for care- 
less actions. The china you broke was not only 
very valuable in itself, but it was precious be- 
cause of many old associations. If carefulness 


OLD CHINA. 


177 


is ever a duty, it is when we are trusted with the 
property of others, as I hope you will try to re- 
member if I am ever again foolish enough to 
send you into my china closet.” 

It was very painful to be reproved by Mrs. 
Pennock for a fault of which she had not been 
guilty, but after one appealing glance at Ethel, 
Honor made no attempt to defend herself. She 
felt that she had pledged herself to Ethel, and 
that until Ethel chose to speak she must remain 
silent. But many times that day she wondered 
if she had not made a mistake, and if the try- 
ing position in which she found herself was not 
due quite as much to her own folly as to Ethel’s 
falsehood. Stung by Ethel’s taunts, and im- 
pelled by an earnest desire to act as she thought 
a Christian ought, she had consented at much 
pain to herself to shield Ethel, but had she done 
right ? 

She was puzzling over that question in the 
evening, while she sat in the library tying 
bright colored wools together for Mrs. Pen- 
nock’s “ crazy afghan.” It was a question she 
found it hard to answer satisfactorily, and it 
was a relief, as well as a surprise to her, when 
Mr. Royalston dropped the book he was hold- 
ing and said suddenly : 

“Aunt Esther, I want your opinion. When 
you know that a person is guilty of deception 

32 


178 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

and falseliood have you any right to try to 
shield them, even though in doing so you bear 
all the unpleasant consequences of their false 
conduct yourself? ” 

“ Have I any right to make it easy for any- 
one to continue in wrong doing,” Mrs. Pennock 
said seriously. “No Vaughn, assuredly I have 
not.” 

“ But you are the only one that suffers — we 
will suppose — ” Mr. Royalston said in a pecu- 
liar voice, “ and isn’t it acting like a Christian 
to deny yourself and be kind to one who 
wrongs you ? ” 

“ In other words, and to use good forcible 
Saxon, if some one lies about me, and throws 
blame on me that ought in justice to fall on that 
some one, is it not my duty as a Christian not 
to expose the falsehood? Is that what jon 
mean, nephew Vaughn?” 

“ Something like it,” Mr. Royalston said 
with an odd little smile. “ Wouldn’t such con- 
duct be fulfilling the golden rule? Wouldn’t 
you be doing unto another as you would wish 
to be done by. Aunt Esther? ” 

“ Vaughn Royalston,” Mrs. Pennock said in 
her most emphatic voice, “when did you turn 
sophist? How can you ask me such questions? 
Is the Golden Rule meant to be a protection to 
wrong doing ? Do we, if we are Christians, do 


OLD CHINA. 


179 


as we would be done by when we aid or give 
any encouragement to another to do wrong ? ” 

Mr. Royalston turned quickly to Honor. 
“ What do you think, Miss Montgomery? ” he 
asked. 

She did not answer his question but she 
asked another. “ What can we do then ? ” she 
said anxiously, ‘‘ when others beg us to spare 
them, and we will be the only sufferers if we 
do so ? ” 

“We can be true,” Mr. Royalston answered 
gravely. “ It is no kindness to help another to 
tell a falsehood or act a lie. It is always the 
truest kindness to them, as well as to ourselves, 
to have the truth revealed.” 

“ There is a great deal of false sentiment and 
mistaken kindness in the world about this very 
question,” Mrs. Pennock said soberly. 

“ And truth is the one grand remedy,” 
Mr. Royalston answered. 

“ It is very hard, sometimes, to insist that 
others shall be truthful,” Honor said with a 
sigh. 

“ Ah,” Mr. Royalston answered, “ we make 
sad blunders, sometimes, because in our deal- 
ings with others we forget that we are dealing 
with souls. We think only of sparing another 
a little present pain or humiliation, and we for- 
get that by that very pain or humiliation a soul 


180 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

may be ennobled and uplifted, while by our 
weak sentimentality and mistaken kindness we 
may harm a soul forever.” 

“ But, suppose,” Honor said earnestly, “sup- 
pose you are bound by a promise.” 

“ To conceal another’s falsehood ? Ah, it is 
in such meshes that we entangle ourselves when 
we forget the sacredness of truth.” 

“ But a promise is always a sacred thing,” 
interrupted Ethel, who had been listening with 
many strange doubts and fears. 

“ Do you think so ? then I hope you will try 
to keep one I heard you make last night,” Mr. 
Royalston said with marked meaning. 

“ I don’t understand you,” Ethel began ; but 
with a manner that seemed at once impatient 
and displeased. Mr. Royalston turned from her. 
His stern face softened a little as he met 
Honor’s troubled and questioning eyes. 

“ Miss Honor,” he said gently, “ it is impos- 
sible, perhaps, to lay down a law that will suit 
every case, but it is always allowable to sup- 
pose a case — and if I had a friend who had 
made a promise to conceal another’s falsehood, 
I think I should urge that friend to be strong 
for the truth, not only for her own sake, but 
for the sake of that other soul, who under the 
shelter of her promise has perhaps taken the 
first false step on a downward road. Remem- 


OLD CHINA. 


181 


ber,” and to Ethel’s consternation, Mr. Royal- 
ston now looked fixedly at her, “ remember the 
truth must be known sometime. If not here^ 
then — ” with a little upward gesture — “ there'^ 
There was a moment’s silence, and then to 
Janet’s and Mrs. Pennock’s surprise. Honor 
dropped her bright wools and went over to 
Ethel’s chair. The two girls whispered to- 
gether for a few minutes. Those who watched 
could see that Ethel was fearful and unwilling, 
while Honor seemed to plead with and encour- 
age her. Presently Ethel pushed Honor away, 
and crossed the room to Mr. Royalston. 

“ Mr. Royalston,” she said, “ I believe you 
know it already; but if you don’t I suppose I 
ought to tell you. Your china fell from my 
hands ” 

“ Then why,” Mrs. Pennock exclaimed indig- 
nantly, ‘‘ why couldn’t and didn’t you say so in 
the beginning?” 

‘‘ Because I was afraid,” Ethel unwillingly 
confessed. 

‘‘ Your courage is the more to be commended 
now then,” Mr. Royalston said kindly, but 
without any appearance of surprise. “I am 
glad you have told me. Miss Ethel,” he con- 
tinued after a thoughtful pause. “ Glad for my 
own sake — for I should be very sorry to have 
our pleasant friendship broken — and glad for 


182 IN ONE girl's experience. 

Aunt Esther,” — with a little smile at Honor — 
“that you have made it possible for her to trust 
Miss Montgomery once more in her china 
closet.” 

Janet beat the floor impatiently with her 
foot. “I have heard such a hue-and-cry to-day 
over old china, that I am tired of the very 
name,” she said fretfully. 

“Then we will dismiss the subject,” Mr. 
Eoyalston said quietly, “but let us all remem- 
ber — ” and as he spoke his voice grew very 
serious — “ let us all remember, that a tempta- 
tion yielded to is sin, but a temptation con- 
quered is a step toward heaven.” 


CHAPTER XL 


QUARRELS AND REPROOFS. 

“ Have good-will 

To all that lives, letting iinkindness die, 

And greed, and wrath : so that your lives be made 
Like soft airs passing by.” 

— Edwin Arnold, 


^ONSCIOUS that the two young girls were 
painfully excited, and believing that they 
would not soon forget the lesson they had 
received, Mr. Royalston, for the remainder of 
that evening, kindly endeavored to amuse and 
interest them. Out from their hiding places he 
brought photographs collected through years 
of travel in all parts of the world, and in 
looking at them and listening to his clear 
explanations and descriptions, both Ethel and 
Honor forgot for the time their unpleasant dif- 
ference. And when the evening was over, and 
Honor went to her room, she cherished the hope 
that there would be no more misunderstandings 
between Janet and Ethel and herself. But it 
is no easy task to conquer jealousy and envy, 
either in our own hearts, or the hearts of others, 
and Honor soon discovered that Janet and Ethel 

( 183 ) 


184 IN ONE girl’s experience, 

were far from being reconciled to her, and still 
took a malicious satisfaction in irritating and 
annoying her. Like many young Christians 
Honor — as soon as she began to pray — had 
trusted and believed that all the little crosses 
and temptations to wrong doing that she daily 
encountered would be removed from her path. 
But she had now to learn, that God, in educat- 
ing his children, is more anxious to make them 
perfect, than he is to make them comfortable in 
their minds, and satisfied with themselves. And 
she learned too, from many sorrowful failures, 
that only the infinite power of our heavenly 
Father can uphold us, and make us victorious in 
our struggles to overcome our besetting sins. 

Naturally, Honor was proud and sensitive ; 
quick to feel and to resent slights, and quick, too 
to give sarcasm for sarcasm, and scorn for scorn. 
In the ladder by which we climb from earth to 
heaven our conquered temptations make strong 
rounds; but before the temptations are con- 
quered, while we are daily and almost hourly 
enduring and resisting them, we are not apt to 
feel that we are climbing heavenward, but we 
more often feel like bruised and wounded birds, 
beaten back to earth in spite of all our efforts 
to rise. As the autumn days went by Honor 
often felt discouraged, for in her intercourse 
with Janet and Ethel, she was constantly 


QUARRELS AND REPROOFS. 185 

tempted to yield to her pride, temper, and 
iincharitableness. Each morning, befcme she 
left her room, she would prayerfully resolve 
to be gentle and forbearing throughout the da}^ 
but each night she found herself compelled to 
confess that she had broken her resolutions, and 
failed to conquer her temptations. 

Ethel could neither forgive nor forget that 
Honor’s conduct had been more truthful and 
unselfish than her own ; and she was jealously 
conscious that it was so regarded by both Mr. 
Eoyalston and Mrs. Pennock. Janet not only 
sympathized with Ethel ; but, for reasons she 
would have blushed to acknowledge, her envy 
of Honor increased instead of lessening as the 
days went by. 

Janet Howard’s besetting sin was selfishness ; 
to be preferred before others, and to possess 
more than others, was her supreme ambition. 
She had quickly detected her aunt’s interest in 
Honor, and instead of rejoicing in it for 
Honor’s sake, she resented it as a personal in- 
jury to herself. With the keen perception 
some unlovely natures have of the foibles and 
weaknesses of others, she had soon discovered 
Honor’s foolish pride and sensitiveness about 
her position. Honor’s humble apology at Mas- 
peth had not softened her, and now she lost no 
opportunity to mortify and humiliate her. 


186 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“Honor,” Mrs. Pennock said, one morning 
as she entered the library, where by her ap- 
pointment the three girls were dusting and 
arranging the book shelves, “I have just re- 
ceived a letter from Mrs. Stanley ; she wishes 
to be kindly remembered to you.” 

“Cousin Helen Stanley,” Janet exclaimed. 
“ Why, Honor, do you know her ? ” 

“ I have met her,” Honor answered. “ She 
was very kind to me,” she added gratefully, 
“ she sent me here.” 

Janet put the book she had been dusting 
back in its place with a good deal of force, and 
then she demanded : “ How did you happen to 
meet her ? ” 

“ I think it was through God’s ordering,” 
Honor answered gently. 

“Don’t talk cant,” Janet said impatiently. 
“ Honor,” she began again after a moment’s si- 
lence, “ do you expect to spend the rest of your 
life cleaning Aunt Esther’s lamps ? ” 

Honor had “ a sense of thunder in the air,” 
but she controlled herself, and answered pleas- 
antly ; “ I do not know about the rest of my 
life, but until I find something I can do better, 
I hope Mrs. Pennock will let me clean her 
lamps.” 

“ You shall do so as long as you like, my 
dear,” Mrs. Pennock said with more than her 


QUARRELS AND REPROOFS. 187 

usual kindness, as she took up the magazine 
she had come for and left the library. 

Any expression of kind feeling for Honor 
from Mrs. Pennock always irritated Janet; 
and now she said scornfully, “ I am sure of 
one thing. Honor, if old Cardinal Wolsey were 
here he would not think it necessary to charge 
you to fling away ambition, for truly I do not 
believe there ever was a girl with less ambition 
than you have.” 

“ You are not infallible. I may have ambi- 
tion though you do not believe it,” Honor re- 
plied with spirit. 

‘‘Why don’t you show that you have, then? 
Why don’t you try to be something more than 
a mere servant? ” 

“ Why she is trying,” Ethel broke in with an 
irritating laugh, “ don’t you remember, Mrs. 
Pennock told us yesterday that she wished we 
would study, and try to improve ourselves like 
Honor.” 

“ Well,” Janet said, “I am very glad if you 
are studying, Honor. Judging from the les- 
sons you used to have at school, I don’t know 
of anyone who needs to study more than you 
do.” 

Honor’s eyes flashed : such cutting remarks, 
even though she knew they were undeserved, 
stung her. “ I am afraid you do not know your 


188 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

own needs very well, Janet,” she said sarcas- 
tically. 

If I do not, I will never trouble my aunt’s 
servant to tell them to me,” Janet retorted. 

Honor’s voice trembled. “ This servant,” 
she said with scornful emphasis, “has no desire 
either to reveal or to supply your needs.” 

“ No, I suppose not, that is what might be 
expected from a servant who professes to be a 
Christian,” Janet returned bitterly. 

Honor winced. Janet’s taunt about her pro- 
fession hurt her deeply. “Oh Janet,” she ex- 
claimed, “ how can you make it so hard for me 
to behave like a Christian ? ” 

“ Because, I do not believe you are a Chris- 
tian,” Janet replied. “I only expose your true 
character. Christians don’t fly into a rage 
whenever a word is said they do not happen to 
like.” 

“ Then if you do not believe I am a Christian, 
wouldn’t it be kind in you to try to help me to 
be one,” Honor asked ; but though her words 
were meek her voice was sharp and scornful. 

“I should suppose you were a saint already 
without any need of my help, if I judged from 
the tone of your voice,” Janet said with a pro- 
voking laugh. 

“ I don’t pretend to be a saint,” Honor an- 
swered sadly, “ but I do wish I was one, and, 


QUARRELS AND REPROOFS. 189 

Janet, I wish you would forgive everything 
I have done and said that you do not like, 
and ” 

“You had better indulge wishes more likely 
to be granted,” Janet interrupted pitilessly. 

To be repulsed, after we have humbled our- 
selves and sought to conciliate others, is always 
very painful, and often very exasperating to 
our pride. Her little conciliatory speech had 
cost Honor a great effort, and to have it so 
rudely slighted awakened all her pride and in- 
dignation. 

“ I will act upon your advice,” she said an- 
grily, “ and I will wish that you may see your- 
self as others see you, Janet, and know just 
how rude, unladylike, unkind, and disagreeable 
you really are.” 

“ Thank you, when I follow your example 
and go out to service, I will refer to you, in- 
stead of to Mrs. Stanley, for a character,” 
Janet retorted. 

“I have said all I am ever going to say about 
you, and I will never speak to you again if I 
can possibly avoid it,” Honor exclaimed, as 
with trembling hands she placed the last book 
she had to dust in its place. 

“I hope you will keep your promise, for 
really it is a great annoyance to me to be 
obliged to talk with you,” Janet said taunt- 


190 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

ingly ; and unable to endure more. Honor rushed 
out of the library. 

“ Honor,” Mrs. Pennock called, as the angry 
girl was hurrying past her room, “ come inhere. 
I want to speak to you.” 

Honor did not dare to disobey that call ; but 
the face with which she answered it looked so 
flushed and angry, that Mrs. Pennock asked 
in surprise, “ Honor, what is the matter with 
you? ” 

“Nothing,” Honor answered. 

“ Nothing must be a very serious thing when 
it can make a girl look as angry as you look 
now,” Mrs. Pennock replied. “I wish,” she 
continued slowly, while Honor stood before her 
with burning cheeks and flashing eyes, “ I wish. 
Honor, you would tell me why, whenever 
Janet, Ethel, and you are together, you find it 
necessary to quarrel? ” 

“We shall not quarrel again,” Honor said 
quickly, “for I will never speak to them again 
if I can possibly help doing so.” 

“ You think they are altogether in fault, do 
you ? ” Mrs. Pennock asked calmly. 

“ They are very unkind,” Honor said passion- 
ately. 

“ I am afraid they are. But in your inter- 
course with them have you nothing to reproach 
yourself with ? ” 


QUARRELS AND REPROOFS, 


191 


The hot tears blinded Honor’s eyes. “ I 
have a great deal to reproach myself for,” she 
confessed, ‘‘but, O Mrs. Pennock, you don’t 
know how very unhappy they make me.” 

“I am sorry,” Mrs. Pennock said gravely, 
“ but you must remember. Honor, that they are 
my visitors, and for the remainder of their stay 
here I hope you will, for my sake, be patient and 
pleasant with them. Remember, I expect you 
to behave like a Christian girl. Honor, and if 
you want a portrait of a Christian girl here is 
one for you.” And Mrs. Pennock opened the 
New Testament on her table, turned to the 
thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, and 
read slowly : 

“A Christian girl — ‘Suffereth long and is 
kind.’ 

“ A Christian girl — ‘ envieth not.’ 

“ A Christian girl — ‘ seeketh not her own.’ 

“ A Christian girl — ‘ is not easily provoked — 
thinketh no evil.’ 

“A Christian girl — ‘beareth all things, be- 
lieveth all things, hopeth all things, endureth 
all things.’ 

“ There,” Mrs. Pennock said gravely, but 
with much kindness as she closed the book, 
“ there is the ideal Christian’s portrait for you. 
Honor. Now let it be your constant endeavor 
to grow like it. 


192 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


“ I called you,” Mrs. Pennock proceeded to 
explain after a moment’s pause, “ to tell you 
that I have invited some friends, who are visit- 
ing a few miles from here, to spend a couple of 
days with us. They will be here to-morrow to 
dinner, and as you will have a good deal to do, 
I think you had better attend to these little 
matters to-day.” As Mrs. Pennock spoke she 
gave Honor one of her little cards, and then 
said kindly, You can go now, my dear, do 
not forget that I think you worthy of my con- 
fidence.” 

With a face as humble and gentle as a little 
while before it had been angry and proud, 
Honor went about her duties. She had much 
to do, but while she was seeding raisins, and 
making jelly, and examining silver and linen, 
her mind was dwelling on the wonderful 
picture Mrs. Pennock had shown her. Was 
that in truth a portrait of a Christian ? Was 
it what God required her to strive to become ? 
It was not hard for Honor to answer those 
questions ; but soon some unpleasant recollec- 
tions began to trouble her. If she wanted to 
grow like that perfect portrait she knew that 
bitter thoughts must have no room in her heart, 
and bitter words must be strangers to her lips. 
She must break the angry promise she had 
made that morning, and she must school her- 


QUARRELS AND REPROOFS. 193 

self to speak pleasantly, under all circum- 
stances, to Janet and Ethel ; for how could she 
dare to profess to be one of God’s children, and 
yet not be able to speak kindly to all God’s 
other children with whom she came in contact ? 
But she must do even more than that. She 
must frankly acknowledge that there had been 
fault on her part, as well as on Janet’s and 
Ethel’s ; and she must ask forgiveness. What 
the girls might say was a question she was not 
called upon to consider : her own duty was 
plain, and that at any cost she must perform. 
Honor had a sharp struggle with her pride that 
day, but at last she felt that she had conquered. 
Just at dusk she met Janet in the hall; since 
their quarrel they had not spoken, and now 
Janet would have passed her without notice 
but Honor stopped her. 

“Janet,” she said gently, “I want to speak 
to you.” 

“Do you?” Janet said rudely, “after your 
words this morning, I am sure I ought to feel 
flattered. What do you want? ” 

This was not a promising beginning, but 
Honor persevered. “ Janet,” she said, and her 
voice, like her words, was sweet and humble, 
“ I was wrong this morning. I said many un- 
pleasant things to you. I think now that per- 
haps it is my fault that you have been unkind 

13 


194 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

to me, and I want to tell you that I am very 
sorry I have behaved so badly.” 

Janet had listened in undisguised impatience. 
‘‘ You really need not have troubled to speak 
to me about this insignificant affair,” she said 
with cutting coolness. ‘‘ You make yourself 
much unnecessary trouble when you imagine 
that anything you can say or do has any effect 
on me. While I am here, visiting my aunt, and 
you remain here in her service, we will both re- 
member our places and keep them ; and then you 
will not need to offer me any more apologies. 
Do you want to say anything more to me ? ” 

Alas, for all Honor's good resolves ; once 
more her incensed pride gained a victory, and 
with the quick answer, “ No, neither now nor 
ever,” she pushed aside the portiere, and entered 
the library. 

With the taunting words, You need not 
fear that I shall ever try to break your silence,” 
Janet followed her. 

To the consternation of both girls Mr. Royal- 
ston was sitting in his favorite chair before the 
fire, near enough to the curtained door to have 
heard all that passed in the hall. “ Good-even- 
ing,” he said quietly. 

Janet stood a moment irresolute, and then 
with a nervous laugh she asked, “Have you 
been here long, cousin Vaughn ? ” 


QUARRELS AND REPROOFS. 195 

“Perhaps half an hour. What makes the 
question of my possible presence or absence so 
interesting?” 

Janet did not answer ; with a disturbed face 
and manner she seated herself by the table and 
took up a book. Mr. Royalston looked at her 
for a moment, and then his eyes roved to 
Honor. She was lighting the lamp, but her 
face was crimson, and he could see that her 
hands were trembling. 

“Janet,” he said, turning to his cousin, “I 
heard voices in the hall a few minutes ago, and 
by some subtle association of ideas, you per- 
haps can understand, I was reminded of some 
lines by Edwin Arnold, that I read not long 
ago. If you and Miss Montgomery will listen, 
I will repeat them to you.” 

Janet tossed her book upon the table, and 
started up. “ You can repeat what you like,” 
she said ungraciously, as she walked to the 
door, “ but as I am in no mood to be preached 
to, I will, if you please, withdraw.” 

“ Stay, Janet, I wish you to,” Mr. Royalston 
said with grave gentleness, but Janet hurried 
away. 

Mr. Royalston sighed as he looked at Honor. 
“Are you, too, afraid of being preached to, 
Miss Honor?” he asked kindly. 

Honor’s eyes were bent upon the lamp ; she 


196 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


could not look up and meet Mr. Royalston’s 
penetrating gaze, nor could she control her 
unsteady voice, but she managed to say : 

If the preaching could only do me good, I 
would not be afraid of it.” 

“ Then suppose we try it,” Mr. Royalston 
said, as he took a little paper out of his pocket- 
book. ‘‘It will not detain you long.” And 
unfolding the paper, in a low but emphatic 
voice he read : 

“ ‘ Thought in the mind hath made us. What we are 
By thought was wrought and built. If man’s mind 
Hath evil thoughts, pain comes on him, as comes 
The wheel the ox behind. 

“ ‘ All that we are is what we thought and willed, 

Our thoughts shape us and frame us. If one endure 
In purity of thought, joy follows him 
As his own shadow sure. 

“ ‘ He hath defamed me, wronged me, injured me, 

Abased me, beaten me. If one should keep 
Thoughts, like these angry words, within his heart, 
Hatreds will never sleep. 

“ * He hath defamed me, wronged me, injured me. 

Abased me, beaten me. If one shall send 
Such angry words away for pardoning thoughts, 
Hatreds will have an end. 

“ ‘ For never any where, at any time. 

Did hatred cease by hatred. Always ’tis 
By love that hatred ceases, only love ; 

The ancient law is this. ^ 


QUABRELS AND REPROOFS. 


197 


“ ‘ The many who are foolish have forgot, 

Or never knew, how mortal wrongs pass by, 

But they, who know and who remember, let 
Transient quarrels die.^ 

Mr. Royalston finished reading the little 
poem, folded it, and placed it again in his 
pocket-book, and still Honor stood mute and 
motionless by the table. “ How do you like 
my little sermon. Miss Honor ? ” he asked 
gently. 

Honor did not look up, and he could not see 
her eyes, but he knew there were tears, as she 
said, “ Isn’t it easier to preach it, than it is to 
practice it ? ” 

“ Yes,” Mr. Royalston answered, “ it is 
easier to preach, than to practice such a ser- 
mon. But I am not sure that it would be, if 
we remembered and claimed one of our great 
birthright privileges.” 

Honor looked up. “ What is that ? ” she asked 
quickly. 

‘‘ The privilege of a child to claim his heav- 
enly Father’s help in every time of trouble,” 
Mr. Royalston answered. 

‘‘Oh,” Honor exclaimed impulsively, “you 
don’t know how often that help seems to fail 
us just when we need it most.” 

“I am glad you acknowledge that it only 
‘ seems ’ to fail,” Mr. Royalston said kindly ; 


198 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“for, Miss Honor, in reality, God never fails 
to hear and answer his children’s cries for 
help.” 

“ Why then do our worst failures often follow 
our most earnest prayers?” Honor demanded 
passionately. 

“ I am not sure that they do ; are you ? ” Mr. 
Royalston asked in a quiet voice. 

“Yes,” Honor said impetuously. “I have 
struggled and prayed all day for strength to be 
gentle and pleasant when others were rude and 
unkind ; and yet, just as soon as I am tried, I 
break all my good resolutions ; I give bitter 
answers to bitter words, and I am angry, proud, 
and — hateful. Surely no one would dare to 
say that my prayers this day have been an- 
swered, and yet — ” aud her words sounded 
like a cry of pain — “I have truly prayed to- 
day.” 

“ And then, just when you needed help most, 
and needed to keep closest to your Saviour, 
you let go his hand. You began to trust to 
your own strength, and so failed,” Mr. Royal- 
ston said in a quiet voice, as if repeating a 
truth his own life experience had taught him. 

Honor’s face changed. “ In my own strength,” 
she repeated, “ I never thought of that.” 

“ And yet that is the solution of your puzzle,” 
Mr. Royalston gravely insisted. “Our fail- 


QUABRELS AND REPROOFS. 199 

ures only prove the insufficiency of our own 
strength, they do not prove the insufficiency 
of God’s.” 

Honor looked troubled. “ It seems strange, 
since we are so weak, and so sure to fail, that 
God should let temptations come to us,” she 
said doubtfully. “ It would be so much easier 
for us to be good, if we were not so tempted 
and tried.” 

“ Do you ever think that your very tempta- 
tions may be your opportunities ? ” Mr. Royal- 
ston asked kindly. “ You pray for patience ; 
can you gain patience if you have no tempta- 
tion to be impatient ? You pray for charity ; 
and soon, perhaps, comes the temptation to 
judge some one uncharitably. You pray for 
humility, and soon God says, ‘ Sit down in the 
lowest seat.’ You do not think that God is 
answering your prayers ; and yet here are pre- 
cious opportunities given you to gain the very 
virtues for which you have prayed.” 

Mr. Royalston’s suggestion was a new thought 
to Honor. She was thinking over her “ tempta- 
tions,” and renaming them “opportunities,” 
when Mr. Royalston spoke again. “Miss 
Honor,” he said, “ I wish you would give me a 
friend’s privilege.” 

“I don’t know what that is,” Honor said, 
with a child’s naturalness. 


200 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“ It is the privilege to speak to you very 
plainly, or perhaps, I ought to say scold you a 
little,” Mr. Royalston answered with a smile. 
“ May I do so ? ” 

Honor looked a little frightened. “ I know 
I need scolding,” she said hurriedly. 

“ If you are conscious that you need it, then 
of course you know for what you need it,” Mr. 
Royalston said quietly, “ and if you know, I 
wish you would tell me.” 

Honor hesitated a moment, then she said 
frankly, “ For the same reason that made you 
read me that little poem.” 

“ Because I overheard your conversation with 
Janet in the hall ? No, Miss Honor, I want to 
go farther than that ; I want to know the 
reason, or rather, the cause that can make such 
conversations, or more truly quarrels, as you 
and Janet and Ethel have, possible.” 

Honor felt not only frightened now but dis- 
mayed. There was no doubt but Mr. Royal- 
ston meant to speak plainly ; but how was she 
to answer him. For a moment she felt inclined 
to run away ; but if Mr. Royalston looked firm 
he seemed at the same time kind and sincere. 
He waited patiently, but she knew he expected 
her to answer him, and at last she stammered ; 
‘‘I don’t know how to tell you. Janet and 
Ethel look down on me because I am poor, and 


QTJAKRELS AND REPEOOFS. 201 

— a — servant, and I — am proud, and it stings 
me.’’ 

“ You have told me the truth,” Mr. Royalston 
said gently, “ but. Miss Honor, when you know 
the cause of your trouble, why do you not 
apply the remedy ? ” 

“ I have tried to pray,” Honor said humbly, 
‘‘ but oh,” and she looked appealingly at Mr. 
Royalston, “ you don’t know how hard it is to 
be slighted and looked down on.” 

“ I think I can imagine,” Mr. Royalston said 
in a voice as kind as it was grave. “ I know 
you have been disappointed in your old school- 
mates ; I know you find it hard to bear their 
slights, but Miss Honor, I do not want now to 
talk of Janet and Ethel. I do not even want 
to offer you sympathy in your trials ; I want 
instead to help you, if possible, to overcome 
and rise above them.” 

‘‘ How can I do that,” Honor asked sadly. 

“ You cannot do it by rebelling against your 
lot,” Mr. Royalston replied with gentle firmness. 
“ You cannot do it by indulging your pride, and 
bitter thoughts, your hasty temper, or your 
sharp tongue. The social distinctions made by 
wealth and position may seem false and unjust, 
but they exist, and it is useless to resent them.” 

“But they do irritate and humiliate me so,” 
Honor said with an eager desire to excuse her- 


202 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


self. “ I am willing to fill a humble place — if 
I am not fitted for a better one, — but to be 
constantly exposed to slights, and even insults, 
from those who know no more and are no bet- 
ter than I am ; it makes me bitter, and angry, 
and I cannot help rebelling.” 

“ Did you choose your lot in life, or did God 
appoint it for you ? ” Mr. Royalston asked. 

Honor’s eyes fell. ‘‘I did not choose it,” she 
said sadly. 

But you came to it by God's appointment. 
You believe that ? ” 

“ Yes,” she said softly. 

“ Then, when in your pride, you rebel against 
your lot, does it not just come to this ; rebellion 
against your heavenly Father’s will ? Miss 
Honor,” and Mr. Royalston’s voice was touched 
with deep feeling now, ‘‘ for you, for me, for all, 
who in pride rebel against the inequalities and 
crosses in life, there is but one remedy — sub- 
mission to the will of God. Remember, in 
God’s plan for his children there are no acci- 
dents and no chances. A love that cannot err 
is ordering all your steps. Even the little 
trials that you daily meet, will be like hands 
outstretched to help you heavenward, if you 
but meet them in the right spirit.” 

In the right spirit,” Honor softly repeated. 

‘‘ Yes, not in pride and rebellion, but in 


QUAREELS AND REPROOFS. 


203 


meekness and love. Pride is the cause of all 
your present troubles — humility and unselfish 
love for others will cure them all.” 

“ I know that is a hard tesson,” Mr. Royal- 
ston added, after a brief but thoughtful pause, 
“ but it must be learned, for the door into the 
kingdom of heaven opens only to love.” 

“ There, Miss Honor,” he said more lightly, 
as voices in. the hall warned of interruptions, 
‘‘ my sermon is ended, and my audience is free, 
at last, to go.” 


CHAPTER XIL 


THROUGH ONE DAY. 

‘ ‘ Never a day is given 

But it tones the future years; 

And it carries up to heaven, 

Our sunshine and our tears; 

While the to-morrows stand and wait, 

The silent mutes by the outer gate.” 

— Henry Burton, 

rpHE early hours of the next day were very 
busy ones for Honor. Notwithstanding the 
extra preparations made the day before, the 
card Mrs. Pennock handed her at the break- 
fast table was a very full one, and from one 
room to another, and from one task to another, 
Honor went with swift feet and ready hands, 
but not always with a willing heart. In spite of 
Mr. Royalston’s kind warnings, and her own good 
resolutions, she felt peevish and irritable ; she 
forgot to watch and pray that her temptations 
to pride might be made stepping stones to hu- 
mility ; and very soon a secret rebellion against 
her lot in life cast its dark shadow over her 
spirit, and made her discontented and unhappy ; 
ready once more to take offence at trifles, and 

(204) 


THROUGH ONE DAY. 


205 


quick to speak the hasty words that only serve 
to stir up strife and deepen bitter feelings. 

By Mrs. Pennock’s orders, great masses of 
chrysanthemums were to be arranged in the 
different rooms ; and late in the morning, with 
her hands full of the beautiful flowers. Honor 
went into the parlor where Janet and Ethel were 
idly lounging. O Honor,” Ethel said eagerly, 
‘‘ we were just speaking of you. Do you know 
that some of the people who are coming here 
to-day are named Montgomery ? Isn’t it queer 
that your name should be like theirs? ” 

Ethel’s information surprised Honor, but she 
answered coolly: I don’t know that it’s so very 
queer. I never supposed that I was the only 
Montgomery in the world.” 

‘‘Then you don’t care?” Ethel asked in a 
voice full of curiosity. 

“No, why should I care?” Honor replied. 
“Mrs. Pennock’s friends are nothing to me.” 

“ That being the case, I suppose you won’t 
wish to claim relation to them,” Janet remarked 
now. 

“ No, I imagine not,” Honor answered with 
a careless laugh. “ If they are at all like some 
of Mrs. Pennock’s other friends, to find my- 
self related to them would be a trial rather 
than a pleasure.” 

“Give yourself no anxiety,” Janet said scorn- 


206 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

fully, ‘‘ I can assure you, for your comfort, that 
a servant would be the last person in this world 
that Professor Montgomery would willingly ac- 
knowledge as a relation.” 

‘‘ Are you related to him ? ” Honor inquired 
expressively. 

‘‘ In a certain sense, yes ; Mrs. Montgomery 
is my second cousin.” 

Honor s smile was as unpleasant as her words. 
“I am sorry for the professor that he cannot 
claim a direct connection with you,” she said, 
“for next to the happiness we find in being 
good and noble ourselves, is the happiness we 
feel in being related to good people.” 

“Janet is as good as you are, any way. Honor 
Montgomery,” Ethel exclaimed now. “ You call 
yourself a Christian, I believe. Well, if you 
are a Christian, you are the bitterest and most 
inconsistent one I ever knew. There, that is 
my candid opinion of you, now make the most 
of it.” 

Make the most of it. Honor looked for a few 
seconds as if she would never be able to make 
much of anything again. Her color came and 
went, and her hands trembled so that the flowers 
she was holding dropped from them. Without 
speaking she turned to leave the room, but a 
voice in the door-way stopped her. 

“ What is the matter? ” she heard Mr. Royal- 


THROUGH ONE DAY. 


207 


ston say. ‘‘Young ladies are you having a bat- 
tle with chrysanthemums or words, this morn- 
ing ? ” 

“ Neither,” Janet said boldly, “ we have only 
been expressing our opinions of each other.” 

“They must have been charitable opinions, 
judging from the effect they have produced,” 
Mr. Royalston remarked soberly. 

Ethel shrank back a little as she met his keen 
eyes. “ At least they were truthful opinions,” 
she said, with a poor attempt to appear in- 
different. 

“ Did you speak them ? then please repeat 
them to me. ‘Truth never hurts the teller,’ 
you know.” 

Ethel hesitated, but she could not resist Mr. 
Royalston’s air of quiet authority. 

“Well,” she said defiantly, “if the truth 
never hurts the teller, I don’t know why it 
should hurt the hearer, and I told Honor she 
was bitter and inconsistent.” 

“ Inconsistent, hey ? ” Mr. Royalston said. 
“Well, that is a sin we must all plead guilty 
of. The poet Pope knew human nature pretty 
well, I imagine, and these are his words. 

“ * Show me one that has it in his power. 

To act consistent with himself one hour.’ ” 

“ You see, Miss Ethel, it is hardly prudent 


208 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


for people who live in glass houses to throw 
stones.” 

Ethel pouted, but before she could gain 
courage to utter the defiant words that trembled 
on her lips, Honor said in a low but earnest 
voice : 

‘‘ Ethel was right in what she told me, Mr. 
Royalston ; I am very sorry I gave her any oc- 
casion to call me bitter and inconsistent, but I 
did. I do not want to be so disagreeable, but 
Janet and Ethel,” and Honor’s voice was very 
husky now, ‘‘you don’t know how hard it is to 
do right.” 

“ If they don’t know, then it must be be- 
cause they have never tried to do right,” Mr. 
Royalston said, while he looked gravely at the 
young girls. 

“ You are not called upon to judge me. 
Cousin Vaughn,” Janet said haughtily. “I 
dare say I try quite as hard as some other 
people to be good. I must say though — ” and 
her lip curled scornfully — “ that I don’t think 
much of a repentance that tries to produce 
dramatic effects before a gentleman.” 

“ Oh,” that little word, as it escaped from 
Honor’s lips, sounded like the cry of a hurt 
child. 

With a face more pained than angry Mr. 
Royalston looked at his cousin. 


THROUGH ONE DAY. 


209 


“ * We do pray for merey, 

And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy.’ ” 

he said slowly, and then he turned to Honor. 

“ Miss Montgomery,” he said, ‘‘ Aunt Esther 
wishes to see you in the dining-room, as soon as 
you are through here.” 

Glad to escape. Honor picked up the flowers 
she had dropped and hurried to the dining- 
room. She found Mrs. Pennock there examin- 
ing the silver and glass already arranged on 
the table. 

“ Honor,” Mrs. Pennock said, while she took 
off her spectacles and gave them a little extra 
rub, “ I don’t think the goblets look as clear 
as they might. Why, what has happened?” 
she asked the next moment, as she replaced 
her spectacles and caught sight of Honor’s 
face. 

Honor gave the old answer, that always 
means so much and tells so little — “ Nothing.” 

“ Then there has certainly been ^ much ado 
about nothing,’ ” Mrs. Pennock said shrewdly. 
“ Honor, have you and those two foolish girls 
been quarrelling again ? ” 

“ They only told me the truth,” Honor con- 
fessed. 

“ Well, if that is so, you ought to be grate- 
ful to them,” Mrs. Pennock said calmly. “ The 

14 


210 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

mirror in which we see ourselves as others see 
us, is worth paying a good deal for, Honor.” 

Honor made no reply ; she found a soft 
towel and began to polish the transparent cut 
glass goblets, but her thoughts were far away 
from her work, and in a few minutes she asked : 
“Mrs. Pennock, will Janet and Ethel stay here 
much longer?” 

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Pennock answered. 
“ I am in no hurry for them to go ; are you ? ” 

Honor did not speak immediately. “ I wish, 
while they stay, you would give me work that 
would keep me from coming in contact with 
them,” she ventured at last to say. 

“I shall do no such thing,” Mrs. Pennock 
replied promptly. “ Pray, why shouldn’t you 
come in contact with th^m? Are you three 
girls like diamonds that cannot touch without 
cutting each other? ” 

“I think we act on each other more like 
light extinguishers,” Honor said with a weary 
sigh. “ Mrs. Pennock, I never feel good when 
I am with the girls, and I don’t think I influ- 
ence them for good.” 

Mrs. Pennock had finished her inspection of 
the table, and now she once more adjusted her 
spectacles and looked at Honor. “ Perhaps,” 
she said seriously, “your influence would be 
better. Honor, if you would obey the beautiful 


THEOUGH ONE DAY. 


211 


old law, ‘ Be not evercome of evil, but over- 
come evil with good.’ ” 

“ But that is just what I cannot do,” Honor 
acknowledged sadly. That overcoming is too 
hard for me, Mrs. Pennock. Ethel says I am a 
bitter and an inconsistent Christian, and I am 
afraid I never shall be anything else, while I 
have to associate with her and Janet.” 

“‘A bitter and an inconsistent Christian,’ ” 
Mrs. Pennock repeated. Honor, those words 
ought never to be united.” 

“ I know it, but oh, what can I do ? ” Honor 
asked tearfully. 

Mrs. Pennock’s face changed. “Honor,” 
she said tenderly, “ a bitter and inconsistent 
Christian can become sweet-hearted, loving and 
consistent only as she obeys Christ, takes his 
sweet yoke of humility upon her, and in his 
school learns patiently the lessons he appoints 
her. There — ” and obeying a sudden impulse 
Mrs. Pennock bent down and kissed the tearful 
face Honor turned toward her — “there must 
be noi more quarrels between yourself and the 
girls. Honor. What you cannot do in your own 
strength you can do with Christ’s help. Now 
go and dress ; I want you in the parlor when 
my friends arrive.” 

An hour later, when Honor opened the parlor 
door, she found that the guests had already ar- 


212 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

rived. No one seemed conscious of her en- 
trance, and from the corner into which she 
quietly slipped she looked with curious interest 
at the strangers. Mrs. Pennock was sitting 
near the fire in earnest conversation with an old 
gentleman and a sweet faced silvery-haired 
lady. Mr. Royalston and Ethel were enter- 
taining a young girl, Janet was standing in one 
of the deep bay windows chatting gayly with 
two gentlemen, while a little girl of six was 
walking demurely about the room. Presently 
the little lady’s tour of inspection brought her 
to Honor’s corner. She stopped, looked soberly 
at her for a moment, and then in a serious little 
voice said, I don’t know you.” 

Honor was very fond of children, and hold- 
ing out her hand she said gently ; “ Then let 
us try to get acquainted. I am Honor Mont- 
gomery, now won’t you tell me your name ? ” 

The little girl drew nearer to Honor, and 
looked at her with innocent and wondering 
eyes. ‘‘ Why, I guess we must be ’lations,” 
she said quaintly, “ for my name is just like 
yours.” 

“ You mean that your last name is like mine, 
don’t you ? ” Honor asked. 

‘‘No. I mean both my names. I wouldn’t 
be named like you, if I didn’t have both your 
names, would I ? ” the little woman asked wisely. 


THEOTJGH ONE DAY. 


213 


“ No, I suppose not,” Honor answered, “but,” 
she asked in surprise, “ you don’t mean, do you, 
that your name is Honor Montgomery ? ” 

“ Yes, that is just what I do mean,” the de- 
cided little creature answered. “ I wonder,” 
she continued soberly, while her childish eyes 
studied Honor’s face, “ I wonder was you named 
for me.” 

Honor laughed at the absurd little question. 
“ You are hardly old enough to be my great 
grandmother, and I was named for her,” she 
said playfully. 

At the mention of the word grandmother 
little Miss Montgomery turned and pointed with 
her small hand to the lady sitting by Mrs. Pen- 
nock. “ There’s my grandma,” she said, and 
the next instant she had darted across the room 
and was pulling the lady’s sleeve. “ Grandma, 
grandma,” she cried in a shrill little voice, 
“ look, there’s another Honor Montgomery over 
there in that corner.” 

“Another Honor Montgomery,” Mrs. Pen- 
nock said, “why, yes. Midget, that is true. 
Come out of your corner. Honor Montgomery, 
Senior,” she ordered pleasantly, “ and come 
here.” 

With a quietness of manner that covered 
much secret unwillingness, Honor crossed the 
room to Mrs. Pennock’s side. 


214 IN ONE gibl’s expebience. 

‘‘ You are fond of tracing relationships, Pro- 
fessor,” Mrs. Pennock said after she had form- 
ally introduced Honor to her guests, “ and now 
I am curious to know where in your family tree 
you will place this young lady. She has the old 
family name, you see. Honor Montgomery.” 

Professor Montgomery looked more surprised 
than pleased. He scanned Honor closely for a 
second, and then he asked abruptly, Do you 
know from whom you get your first name, Miss 
Montgomery ? ” 

‘‘ From my great grandmother,” Honor an- 
swered. 

Ye-es*” Whether that little assenting word 
denoted pleasure, or its opposite, it would have 
been difficult for any of the professor’s hearers 
to decide. ‘‘Are you a native of this part of 
the state,” he asked slowly. 

“ No,” Honor answered. “ I was born in 
Broadfields, Long Island.” 

“ Did you ever have any connections on Long 
Island, Professor ? ” Mrs. Pennock asked now. 

“ No, never,” Professor Montgomery replied. 

“ Are you positive ? ” Mr. Eoyalston, who 
had joined the group around the two Honors, 
asked now. “ Pray, why may not some mem- 
ber of your family. Professor, have been blown 
by one of fortune’s winds on to Long Island, 
and taken root there ? ” 


THROUGH ONE DAY. 215 

Professor Montgomery fastened his eyes once 
more on Honor, and was silent a moment, then 
he said slowly : ‘‘ Of course, there is no reason 

why what you suggest may not have actually 
occurred, Mr. Royalston. But — he continued 
in a quicker and more confident voice — “ after 
all the care I have taken to trace my family in 
all its branches, I consider the possibility you 
suggest very unlikely. My dear,” and he 
looked at his wife, “ I cannot understand how 
the Long Island Montgomerys, could have been 
forgotten or lost sight of, if they belong to us. 
I thought,” he added in a troubled soliloquy, 
‘‘ I thought my tree was perfect.” 

Mrs. Montgomery laughed pleasantly. “ The 
professor,” she explained to the little company, 
“ is a devoted student of genealogy ; and for 
years he has been at work on a family tree. He 
has taken the greatest pains to trace all the re- 
mote branches of his family, and this past sum- 
mer he had his tree engraved. Now it hangs in 
front of his chair in our library; and next to 
his family Bible,” she concluded with a smile at 
her husband, “ I do believe the professor prizes 
that tree.” 

“ As I ought to do,” Professor Montgomery 
promptly responded. “ The man who has no 
pride in his family, if it is a respectable one, is 
pretty sure to disgrace it.” 


216 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

‘‘ Professor,” Mr. Royalston asked now, how 
does it happen that your little granddaughter is 
named Honor ? It is not a common name.” 

“ She inherited it, it is a family name,” Pro- 
fessor Montgomery answered quickly. 

‘‘ Honor appears to have been a favorite name 
in the different Montgomery families,” observed 
the younger of the two gentlemen who in com- 
pany with Janet had now approached the fire. 

‘‘It is, at least, an odd coincidence,” quietly 
remarked the older man. 

Mrs. Pennock’s bright eyes twinkled sharply 
through her spectacles. “ You are sure,” she 
said with a good deal of emphasis, “ that you 
have not, by some accident, overlooked the 
Long Island Montgomerys? You are sure that 
there is no place for this Honor Montgomery in 
your family tree. Professor ? ” 

Professor Montgomery looked troubled. He 
was a man of hobbies and his family tree was 
very near his heart. “ I don’t see,” he began in 
an annoyed and uncertain voice, “ I really don’t 
see how a mistake in my tree can have been 
made.” 

“ Pardon me,” skilfully interposed the elder 
of the two strange gentlemen, “but I feel a 
lawyer’s interest in this case. Mrs. Pennock, 
will you introduce me to your young friend, 
and may I ask her one or two questions ? ” 


THKOUGH ONE DAY. 


217 


“ Yes, certainly,” Mrs. Pennock answered ; 
and in another minute Honor, who felt very 
much like an unwilling witness in a court-room, 
learned that her new examiner’s name was 
Ketcham, and that he was entitled Judge. 

“ Miss Montgomery,” the judge said easily, 
“ every thing that seems at all unusual or mys- 
terious is to a lawyer as attractive as a mouse- 
hole is to a cat. Puss will never abandon that 
hole until convinced that there is nothing there 
that she can catch, and a lawyer is never will- 
ing to leave a mystery until he has at least at- 
tempted to solve it. Now will you please tell 
me if your ancestors were all born on Long 
Island?” 

‘‘I don’t know,” Honor answered. “My 
father was an only child, and I do not remem- 
ber ever hearing him speak of his family or rela- 
tions.” 

“ And you do not know where the grand- 
mother, who bequeathed you her name, 
lived ? ” 

“ No,” Honor said. 

“ And you have no such thing in your pos- 
session as a family tree ? nor any records by 
which you could trace your ancestry back for 
a few generations, if not quite to the deck of 
the Mayflower?” the judge smilingly asked. 

“No,” Honor answered again; and then a 


218 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

sudden recollection made her add — not very in- 
telligibly — “ at least — I don’t know.” 

“ Ah ! ” Judge Ketcham said quickly, ‘‘ I see 
you have, possibly, some old family records. 
Now — out of pity for my curiosity — will you 
let us see them ? ” 

I can not,” Honor said. ‘‘ If there are any 
such records, they are stored with other things 
in Broadfields.” 

A shadow that denoted disappointment just 
crossed Judge Ketcham’s face. “ Could you not 
send for those old records ? ” he asked. “ You 
see,” he added in a lighter tone, ‘‘ I am like puss. 
Miss Montgomery, I want to catch my mouse.” 

“ No,” Honor answered, with a little tone of 
annoyance in her voice, ‘‘ I can not send for 
them, and if I could they would prove of very 
little consequence.” 

‘‘ Probably you are right,” Judge Ketcham 
returned, “ but still consequences are apt to be 
like the unknown quantities in algebraic prob- 
lems : it is never wise to pronounce them either 
small or great, until we know all that led to 
them and may result from them.” 

‘‘Excuse me,” Mr. Royalston, who had been 
an interested listener to the judge’s catechism, 
said now, “ but may I ask why you are so much 
interested in Miss Montgomery’s ancestry. Judge 
Ketcham ? ” 


THROUGH ONE DAY. 219 

J udge Ketcham laughed carelessly. “ Oh,” 
he said evasively, ‘‘ a true lawyer is always a 
good deal of a detective ; the thing he does not 
know he always wants to search out. I am 
sorry — ”and he turned to Professor Montgom- 
ery — “ that I have not been able to learn any- 
thing satisfactory from Miss Montgomery. But 
for the present, at least, Professor, your tree is 
safe.” 

Professor Montgomery’s face brightened. 
“ I have had no fears for its safety,” he said with 
dignity; ‘‘but at the same time,” and he smiled 
pleasantly at Honor, “ I beg Miss Montgomery 
to believe that I would gladly give her a place 
in my tree, if I could be convinced that the 
Long Island Montgomerys belonged to my fam- 

iiy-” 

This whole coversation had been very trying 
to Honor, and now, with a proud little gesture, 
she said : “ It is of no consequence, I assure 
you ; I am quite content with my own fam- 
ily.” 

During the general laugh that followed that 
little speech dinner was announced, and to Hon- 
or’s great relief her ancestors were allowed once 
more to rest in their obscurity. 

That day, which, in ways she little dreamed of 
was destined to influence all her future life, was 
a checkered one for Honor. More than once 


220 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

during the long dinner, with its elegant service 
and brilliant conversation, Judge Ketcham 
turned to her with some pleasant remark ; and 
when after the dinner the little company assem- 
bled in the library, through Mr. Royalston’s 
kind efforts and the judge’s attention. Honor 
was soon drawn out of her corner, and for a lit- 
tle while there was no shadow on her innocent 
enjoyment. She had forgotten everything that 
wdiS unpleasant, when just at dusk Janet gave 
her a sharp reminder. 

“ Honor,” she said in the midst of a gay laugh 
over one of the girl’s bright speeches, “your 
wit is brilliant, I know, but it can hardly fill the 
place of an illuminator, and I wish you would 
attend to your duty and light the lamps.” 

Honor sprang up. “ I am glad you reminded 
me; I had quite forgotten them,” she said 
pleasantly. The library lamps were soon 
lighted, and then Honor passed into the ad- 
joining parlor. As she stood there by the cen- 
tre table the voices in the library were very dis- 
tinct, and she could not avoid hearing Judge 
Ketcham ’s niece. Miss Hudson, ask, “Who is 
that Miss Montgomery, Janet?” 

Honor’s fingers trembled as she adjusted the 
lamp shade. She wanted and yet dreaded to 
hear Janet’s answer. It was short and scorn- 
ful. 


THEOUGH ONE DAY. 


221 


“ Only one of Aunt Esther’s servants.” 

“ A servant ? ” Honor heard Judge Ketcham 
exclaim. 

“ Yes, one of Aunt Esther’s hired servants ; 
but she has unusual privileges, for Aunt Esther 
— who never does things like other people — has 
taken a great fancy to her.” 

“ Janet,” Mr. Royalston said sternly, “ why do 
you not tell the whole truth about Miss Mont- 
gomery ? ” 

“ Because I do not consider further informa- 
tion necessary,” Janet said defiantly. 

“ Nor is it,” Judge Ketcham said in his most 
positive manner. “ Our position often has to 
be announced for us, but our character will 
always speak for itself.” 

Honor did not hear that last remark. She 
had finished lighting the lamps in the parlor 
and with noiseless steps she went out into the 
hall. Her cheerfulness for that evening was 
gone. She was glad that preparations for 
supper furnished her with an excuse for not 
returning to the library, and after the supper 
she went into a little room that opened out of 
the dining-room. An old cabinet organ stood 
in one corner. Honor knew that no one in the 
parlor or library could hear her ; she felt secure 
from all intrusions, and opening the organ in a 
sad and almost aimless fashion she let her fingers 


222 


IN ONE GIKL’S experience. 


wander over the keys. Presently she took up 
a song she had found one day when examining 
a pile of old music. The pathos of the words 
had touched her fancy then, and now she 
played a slow sad accompaniment, and then in 
a voice that quivered with tears, sang softly: 

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years ; 

I am so weary of toil and of tears, — 

Toil without recompense, tears all in vain, — 

Take them, and give me my childhood again. 

I have grown weary of dust and decay, — 

Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away ; 

Weary of sowing for others to reap ; — 

Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep. 

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long 
Since I last listened your lullaby song ; 

Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem 
Womanhood’s years have been only a dream. 
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace. 

With your light lashes just sweeping your face, 
Never hereafter to wake or to weep ; — 

Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep.” 

‘‘ Don’t,” exclaimed some one behind her, as 
her voice trembled on the last word, “don’t.” 

Honor turned in confusion ; Professor Mont- 
gomery stood back of her chair. 

“ You must pardon my intrusion,” he said. 
“ I found my way to the dining-room in quest 
of a glass of water, and then the music drew 
me here. It sounded very sweetly ; but it is 


THEOUGH ONE DAY. 223 

hard for me to understand why young girls, 
like yourself, take pleasure in singing such 
morbid and sentimental songs. Do you know 
why you do it ? ” 

“ I suppose because they chime well with our 
feelings,” Honor answered sadly. 

Chime well with your feelings,” the pro- 
fessor exclaimed. “ Do you want me to under- 
stand that your feelings are as false to life and 
truth, as the words of that song? What can 
induce a bright young girl to take such a mor- 
bid view of life ? ” 

Though the professor spoke earnestly, his 
eyes were smiling, and Honor could not help 
trying to answer him. “ I suppose because life 
does not seem to promise us much,” she said 
soberly. 

“ Life doesn’t promise you much,” the pro- 
fessor echoed, “you a mere child, with all 
the years and their grand possibilities before 
you. My little girl, such morbid, sentimental 
fancies ought to have no more place in your 
mind, than sighs have in a bird’s song. Here, 
let me take that piece of music, if you please.” 

Blushingly Honor handed him the music, and 
walking to the lamp, the professor ran it over. 

“ Let me see,” he said, “ what verse did* I 
hear you sing ? — Oh, this ” 

“ ‘ I have grown weary of dust and decay — ^ 


224 


IN ONE GIKL’s experience. 


How can you dare to sing such twaddle, 
when every nerve in your body is thrilling with 
exquisite life ? ” he demanded in a parenthesis. 

‘Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away — * 

Bah,” and the professor looked frowningly at 
Honor. “ Do you really believe that you have 
ever thrown the wealth of your soul away ? do 
you even begin to know what your soul’s- 
wealth is ? I trow not. But what is this next 
thing you are weary of ? Ah — ” 

“ ‘ Weary of toiling for others to reap — * 

Such selfish cries come with a good grace, 
from one whose whole life has been full of 
blessings bestowed by others, don’t they?” 
And once more the professor frowned at Honor. 

She could not answer him, and he went ruth- 
lessly on. 

‘‘ What was that last desirable thing I heard 
you imploring? Oh this ” 

“ ‘ Never here after to wake or to weep, 

Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to to sleep.’ 

“ Child,” and now Professor Montgomery laid 
the music on the organ, and his voice, though 
still earnest, grew very gentle. “ Let an old 
man, who has had a wide and deep experience 
in life, and tasted most of its joys and sorrows, 


THROUGH ONE DAY. 225 

and learned that both come from a Father’s 
hand and are alike blessings, beg you never to 
be so false to the possibilities of your life, the 
memory of your mother, and the love of your 
Father in heaven as to wish for death. And 
now,” and Professor Montgomery’s manner 
changed again. ‘‘ Do you know the grand old 
German hymn, ‘ All good saints praise the 
Lord’?” 

“ No ? Well, I hardly supposed you did, but 
do you know, ‘Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace 
bled ’ ? Play me that, or anything that is full 
of life and triumph, just to get the memory of 
that wish-to-die-morbidness out of our minds.” 

Fortunately Honor knew several of the fine 
old Scotch airs the professor loved. She played 
them with spirit, and the professor listened 
and approved. Then he sat down in an easy 
chair, that stood invitingly near the organ, and 
drew Honor into a pleasant conversation. 

The talk, that both found interesting, lasted 
until Norah interrupted it, with a request for 
instructions for the next morning ; and then the 
professor walked thoughtfully back to the 
library. 

“I have been getting acquainted with my 
namesake. Miss Montgomery,” he explained to 
the group gathered about the fire. 

“Well?” Mrs. Pennock said interrogatively. 

15 


226 


IN ONE GIKL’S experience. 


“Well,” he responded, “I would be willing 
to give her a place in my tree — ^if she only had 
a right to be there. — The family she does be- 
long to ought to be proud of her. She is worth 
knowing.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


WORDS WITH MEANINGS. 

“ What boots it to repeat, 

How time is skipping underneath our feet? 

* Unborn to-morrow and dead yesterday — 

Why fret about them if to-day be sweet? 

Know’st thou yesterday, its aim and reason. 

Work^st thou well to-day for worthy things? 

Then calmly wait the morrow’s hidden season. 

And fear not thou what hap soe’er it brings.” 

— Translated from the Persian, 

^HE next morning, when Honor while dress- 
ing glanced at her little calendar, she was 
surprised to find that it was the first day of 
November; but when she looked out of her 
window she saw that through the night the 
bright beauty of October had departed, and 
that the fields and hills were wrapped already 
in November’s gray mantle. A “ surly blast ” 
was fast stripping the trees, and a cold and 
steady rain was pitilessly beating down the few 
fiowers, that until then had lingered courage- 
ously in the sheltered garden. With a sigh 
Honor turned from her window. She antici- 
pated another very busy morning — for Mrs. 
Pennock’s guests were not to leave until night, 

( 227 ) 


228 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

and she wondered nervously to what new 
humilitation Janet would succeed in subjecting 
her before the day was over. With*a longing 
for a strength greater than she possessed, she 
took up her Bible. Slowly, in her search for 
some word just suited to her need, she turned 
the pages, until her eyes rested on the charge 
to Timothy — ‘^Endure hardness, as a good 
soldier of Jesus Christ.” There was a strong 
and martial ring about those words, but 
strength just then was what she needed. In a 
spirit that though weak was willing to obey, 
she read that stern command, and while she 
lingered ever it, she remembered those other 
words, that have in them the promise of all 
sufficiency for all our wants — Lo, I am with 
you alway.” Her need for that hour was satis- 
fied ; and with the tranquil mind that comes 
from trusting in a power greater than our own, 
she left her room. 

As often happens, what she anticipated did 
not come to pass, and when, as they left the 
breakfast table, she extended her hand for the 
card she had learned to consider indispensable 
to her day’s work, Mrs. Pennock smilingly 
shook her head. 

“No,” she said, “I have nothing for you 
this morning. I can trust you, I am sure, to 
attend to the - few things that you know you 


WOEDS WITH MEANINGS. 


229 


must do to-day ; but I shall give you no extra 
duties, for I wish you to spend as much time as 
possible with my friends in the parlor.” 

“ But I am not needed there,” Honor said 
quickly, and indeed, Mrs. Pennock, I would 
rather work.” 

“ You are needed where I want you,” Mrs. 
Pennock, replied, “ and to-day I want you in 
the parlor. You are a foolish child,” she added 
kindly, as she watched Honor's sober face. 
“ You don’t know what is for your own good.” 

‘‘ But I am sure I know where it is easiest 
for me to be good,” Honor ventured to answer. 

“ Nonsense,” Mrs. Pennock said emphatically. 
“ Goodness that depends upon place is about 
as real, as beauty that depends upon paint. , If 
your goodness is not firm enough to bear the 
strain of any place, it is like an old chair that 
has to be propped against the wall in order to 
stand straight. Now go about your work,” she 
ordered pleasantly, “ and remember it is the 
spirit within us, more than the circumstances 
about us, that makes it easy or hard for us to 
be good.” 

A good deal ashamed of the weakness that 
had occasioned Mrs. Pennock’s reproof. Honor 
went resolutely about her usual morning tasks. 
They were soon performed, and then with 
much secret reluctance she took her little work- 


230 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


basket and went to the parlor. She found all 
the family assembled there, and all interested 
in a game that Judge Ketcham was explaining. 

You are just in time, Miss Montgomery,” 
he said kindly. “We are obliged this rainy 
morning to manufacture our own sunshine, and 
so we are going to play a game called ‘ Opin- 
ions.’ Some subject is proposed, each person 
present expresses an opinion, and the best 
opinion will be entitled to a prize. Mrs. Pen- 
nock has promised to act as umpire, the 
prize,” and he held up a dainty little book^ 
“ is to be this volume of choice poems by 
Eowland Sill, and the subject or question — ” 
Judge Ketcham paused and looked 'smilingly 
at his hearers — “ well, that is not yet decided. 
Ladies and gentlemen, who will give us a sub- 
ject worthy of our thoughtful consideration 
this morning ? ” 

“ Let’s discuss the weather,” Ethel said. 
“That is a subject everybody has some opinion 
about.” 

Judge Ketcham shook his head. “That 
would be offering a prize to ignorance,” he 
objected. “ No one here really knows anything 
about the weather. The subject we choose 
must be one we have truly an intelligent idea 
about.” 

“ Take foot-ball,” laughed young Mr. 


WORDS WITH MEANINGS. 


231 


Ketcham. “ Ought that game to be classed 
with bull-fights for its barbarity, or does it 
deserve the serious attention bestowed on it in 
our best schools and colleges ? ” 

‘‘No,” quietly vetoed Mrs. Montgomery, 
“ some of us do not understand foot-ball, and 
we are only prejudiced for or against it.” 

“ Then take the North pole ; ” gravely sug- 
gested Professor Montgomery. “ Is its dis- 
covery worth the sacrificing of any more noble 
lives ? ” 

“I am not scientific enough to have any 
intelligent opinion on that subject,” Miss Hud- 
son laughingly confessed. 

“Let’s discuss art,” said Janet. “Are the 
painters of to-day inferior to the old masters ? ” 

“ You make me think of the old line, ‘ Fools 
rush in where angels fear to tread,’ Janet,” 
Mrs. Pennock said with a little frown. “ Be- 
cause you can sketch a tree so that we can 
recognize it, it does not follow that you have 
any right to express an opinion about the sub- 
ject you have proposed.” 

“ Why not take literature ? ” said Mrs. Mont- 
gomery. “ Are our greatest writers our most 
helpful ones ? ” 

“They ought to be, if they are not,” Mr. 
Royalston said quietly. 

“ Oh don’t,” Miss Hudson exclaimed, “ don’t 


232 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


discuss books ; we will be just like people 
walking on stilts in a few minutes, if we do.” 

“Well,” Mr. Royalston said, when the laugh 
that followed Miss Hudson’s remark had sub- 
sided, “ since the weather, games, art, science, 
and literature, are all beyond our powers of 
discussion, let us take a question that bears on 
every-day life, and endeavor to decide what 
constitutes a lady.” 

That is a question we certainly ought to 
have intelligent opinions about,” Judge Ketcham 
replied. ‘‘ Guy — ” and he turned to his son — 
“ suppose we begin with you. What in your 
opinion makes a lady ? ” 

Young Mr. Ketcham laughed. “ I shall have 
to answer you in poetry,” he said, ‘‘ my own 
powers of description are too prosaic. I have 
always thought these lines b}^ Lowell very 
beautiful : 

“ ‘ She doeth little kindnesses, 

Which most leave undone, or despise ; 

For naught that sets one heart at ease. 

And giveth happiness or peace, 

Is low^esteemed in her eyes.^ 

‘‘Very good, Guy,” Judge Ketcham said 
approvingly. “Who comes next? shall we 
speak in course ? then, Miss Ethel, I think you 
must give us your opinion.” 

Ethel blushed and played with her finger 


WOEDS WITH MEANINGS. 233 

rings. “ My lady has white hands ; she knows 
nothing about work, except its name,” she said 
self-consciously. 

“ Then she is a pretty useless bit of hu- 
manity,” Mrs. Pennock said brusquely. 

Judge Ketcham laughed. ‘‘Before we get 
through,” he said, “ I suspect we shall find that 
as there are men of many minds, so there are 
ladies of many kinds. Who speaks next? 
Will you. Niece Fanny ? ” 

Miss Hudson hesitated. “Won’t the old 
definition of politeness apply?” she asked. 
“ Doesn’t a lady do and say the kindest things 
in the kindest ways ? ” 

“ She fails to prove her right to her title, if 
she does not,” Judge Ketcham answered. 
“ You come now, Miss Janet. What is your 
lady like ? ” 

“ She is all that beauty, wealth, family, and 
position can make her,” Janet said promptly. 

“ Then she is simply made by her circum- 
stances,” Mr. Royalston observed. “ If that is 
your ideal lady, Janet, you are easily satisfied. 
You can find such ladies every where.” 

“Well, if you don’t like my ideal, suppose 
you give me yours,” Janet said sharply. 

“ All in good time,” Judge Ketcham inter- 
posed. “ My friend, Mrs. Montgomery, speaks 
now.” 


234 IN ONE gtel’s expeetencb. 

Mrs. Montgomery dropped the soft wools 
she was knitting, and looked up with a gentle 
smile. “My lady is like the old tapestry 
workers,” she said sweetly. “ She copies the 
pattern before her, and that pattern is — Christ.” 

There was a moment’s pause ; then with a 
gentle inclination of his head to Mrs. Mont- 
gomery, the judge turned to her husband. 

“ It ought to be very easy. Professor, for you 
to define a lady,” he said gravely. 

“ To know her makes the joy and blessedness 
of life,” the professor answered, while his eyes 
rested tenderly on his wife’s face. 

“ It is beautiful to see lovers who have cele- 
brated their golden wedding,” Janet said with 
a light laugh ; but her words seemed to annoy 
Judge Ketcham, and he turned hastily to 
Honor. 

“ It is your turn now, Miss Montgomery,” he 
said pleasantly. 

Honor did not look up. Her cheeks were 
flushed and her voice was low, but her audience 
caught every word. 

“I find my lady’s portrait in the Bible,” she 
said. “ ‘ She vaunteth not herself ; is not puffed 
up ; seeketh not her own ; is not easily pro- 
voked.’ ” 

“ She wears the ‘ white flower of a perfect life’ 
then,” Judge Ketcham said almost reverently. 


WORDS WITH MEANINGS. 


235 


“ Now, Mr. Royalston, the last ought to be the 
best.” 

“ It cannot be that,” Mr. Royalston said with 
emphasis, “but if you will, you may know my 
lady.” And with eyes that smiled, and lips a 
little moved from their usual firm repose he re- 
peated, 


“ ‘ This is to my lady^s praise ; 

Shame before her is shamed; 

Hate cannot hate repeat 
She is so pure of ways ; 

There is no sin is named 
But falls before her feet. 

Because she is so frankly free, 

So tender, and so good to see, 

Because she is so sweet.’ ” 

“ Have you found that lady yet, Mr. Royal- 
ston ? ” young Mr. Ketcham asked laughingly. 
Mr. Royalston’s face was as grave as if he had 
just demonstrated a proposition in Euclid. 

“ Listen,” he said, “ Mrs. Pennock is going to 
speak.” Mrs. Pennock leaned forward, took 
the little volume of poems from the table, and 
held it in her hand. 

“ With two exceptions,” she said with a 
smile, “I approve of all the opinions given, 
and where all are good it is often difEcult to 
choose the best, but I award the prize to Honor 
Montgomery because ” 


236 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


‘‘Go on, Aunt Esther,” Janet said curtly as 
Mrs. Pennock paused, “let us know why Honor 
has surpassed us all.” 

“Because,” Mrs. Pennock said, while she 
looked soberly at Janet, “ ‘ We needs must love 
the highest when we see it,’ ” and Honor has 
shown us the highest ideal drawn from the 
highest source.” 

“Oh,” Janet said scornfully, “I supposed we 
were to try to describe what the world acknowl- 
edges to be a real lady. I did not know that 
the impossible ideals of the poets and the Bible 
were what you wanted.” 

“We wanted your true opinion,” Judge Ket- 
cham replied, “ didn’t you give us that. Miss 
Janet? ” 

“ Yes,” Janet said, defiantly, “ I did : and 
you may go the world over, and I believe you 
will always find that only the women who pos- 
sess wealth, family, and position are considered 
ladies. Of course, though,” she continued — 
while she shot a scornful glance at Honor — “ it 
is all very well for those, who possess neither 
family, nor wealth, to quote the Bible, and try 
to prove that in order to be a lady one has only 
to be religious. There is one comfort ; no one 
is ever really deceived by such pretensions,” 
she added bitterly. 

“ There was one definition I think you for- 


WORDS WITH MEAKINGS. 


237 


got to give,” Mrs. Pennock said in quiet voice, 
‘"a true lady never selfishly wounds another’s 
feelings. Janet — ” and she held out the book — 
‘‘ Will you give this to Honor ? ” 

Janet did not dare to refuse. She took the 
little volume and walked to the window where 
Honor was sittin'g. 

“ I hope you will always quote the Bible 
as successfully,” she said with an unpleasant 
laugh, as she dropped the book into Honor’s 
lap. 

The pained look in Honor’s face deepened. 
Janet had ruthlessly destroyed all her happi- 
ness in receiving the pretty prize, and it seemed 
impossible for her to look up and express her 
thanks for it. 

Perhaps Mr. Royalston divined her feelings. 
“May I look at your prize. Miss Honor?” he 
asked. “ There was the insight of a true poet 
in Rowland Sill,” he continued, as he turned 
the pages of the little book. “Do any of you 
know ^The Fool’s Prayer’? There was a 
little chorus of “ Noes^” and saying, “ It is 
worth your knowing then,” Mr. Royalston 
read aloud : — 

“ The royal feast was done, the King 
Sought some new sport to banish care, 

And to his jester cried ; * Sir Fool, 

Kneel now, and make for us a prayer. ^ 


238 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


“The jester doflfed his cap and bells, 

And stood the mocking court before ; 

They could not see the bitter smile 
Behind the painted grin he wore. 

“He bowed his head, and bent his knee 
Upon the monarch’s silken stool ; 

His pleading voice arose ; ‘ O Lord, 

Be merciful to me, a fool.’ 

“No pity, Lord, could change the heart 
From red with wrong to white as wool ; 
The rod must heal the sin ; but. Lord, 

Be merciful to me, a fool. 

“ ’Tis not by guilt the onward sweep 
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay ; 

’Tis by our follies that so long 
We hold the earth from heaven away. 

“ These clumsy feet, still in the mire. 

Go crushing blossoms without end ; 

These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust 
Among the heart-strings of a friend. 


“ The ill-timed truth we might have kept — 
Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung ? 
The word we had not sense to say — 

Who knows how grandly it had rung ? 

“ Our faults no tenderness should ask. 

Thy chastening stripes must cleanse them all 
But for our blunders — oh, in shame 
Before the eyes of heaven we fall. 


•WORDS WITH MEANINGS. 239 

* Earth bears no balsam for mistakes ; 

Men crown the knave and scourge the tool 
That did bis will; but thou, O Lord, 

Be merciful to me, a fool.^ 

The room was hushed ; in silence rose 
The King, and sought his gardens cool, 

And walked apart, and murmured low, 

‘ Be merciful to me, a fool.’ ” 

“ That is fine,” Judge Ketcham said, when 
Mr. Royalston had finished reading. “Miss 
Montgomery, that little poem alone makes your 
prize worth owning, I think.” 

Honor looked up with a faint smile. “ I ought 
to thank you for awarding it to me, Mrs. Pen- 
nock,” she said in a voice that was far from 
being joyful. 

“ I only did my duty as umpire,” Mrs. Pen- 
nock answered. “ But I am glad, my dear, if 
the book is one you really will care for.” 

“ There is a great deal in that little poem 
well worth remembering,” Professor Montgom- 
ery thoughtfully remarked, “ There are the 
lines — 

“ * The ill-timed truth we might-have kept — 

Who knows how deep it pierced and stung ? 

The word we had not sense to say — 

Who knows how grandly it had rung ? ' ” 

“ Miss Janet,” he said gravely to Janet who 
was sitting near him, “ those words treasured 


240 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

in our minds, might often help us to remember 
when we ought to speak and when to be silent.” 

Janet looked annoyed. ‘‘ I am not afraid of 
the truth,” she said proudly. 

“ Nor ever afraid of hurting others with it ? ” 
Judge Ketcham, who had heard her answer, 
asked now. Janet had an uncomfortable con- 
sciousness that there was a motive in Judge 
Ketcham’s question. 

‘‘They must take the consequences, if they 
put themselves in positions where the truth 
can hurt them,” she said in a cold nulovely 
voice. 

J udge Ketcham studied her face a moment. 
“ I congratulate you, that ‘ The Fool’s Prayer’ 
was not awarded to you,” he said meaningly 
as he turned away. 

Janet’s face flushed and darkened as she saw 
him cross the room to Honor’s chair. It would 
have been hard for Janet to explain, even to 
herself, her reasons for disliking Honor. Her 
parents were wealthy, she was an only daughter, 
and all her wishes were gratified. It did not 
seem possible for Honor’s life ever to come in 
conflict with hers. But Janet was conscious 
that Honor’s aims were higher than her own, 
and, strange though it may seem, she was jeal- 
ous of the very struggles and efforts Honor 
made to conquer her faults and to do right. It 


WOBDS WITH MEANINGS. 


241 


embitterd her, too, to see the interest her aunt 
and cousin manifested in Honor, and now the 
marked notice that Judge Ketcham was taking 
of her, was to her already intense envy like 
gall poured upon wormwood. 

Her scornful words about Honor’s position 
in the family had evidently failed to influence 
any of her aunt’s visitors against her. They 
could see plainly in what light Mrs. Pennock 
regarded her ; and they were willing to receive 
her as Mrs. Pennock wished. Janet thought it 
all over in the few minutes that she remained 
sitting where Judge Ketcham had left her ; and 
in those few minutes she came to the determin- 
ation that if she had power to accomplish it, 
Honor should leave her aunt’s house. She 
would not owm, even to herself, that her mo- 
tives were false and contemptible. None are 
more easily self-deceived than those who do not 
wish to know their own hearts, and now Janet 
found it easy to quiet her conscience with the 
thought that Honor ought to be more ambitious 
for herself, and that it would be a kindness to 
place her somewhere in a better position than 
she filled in Mrs. Pennock’s household. 

Fortunately we cannot read the minds of 
others, and Honor that day was very far from 
suspecting Janet’s unkind intentions. About 
noon the storm cleared away, the gray of the 
16 - 


242 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

morning changed to the golden tints of a late 
autumn day, and Mrs. Pennock proposed to 
give her friends a long drive before taking them 
to the railroad station. Soon after dinner the 
carriage came to the door ; there was the little 
bustle in the house that usually precedes a de- 
parture, and in the height of it Judge Ketcham 
found his way to Honor. 

“ I suppose. Miss Montgomery,” he said in a 
pleasant but inconsequential manner, “ I sup- 
pose, if at any time you wanted those old family 
records, we were talking of yesterday, you 
could obtain them, could you not ? ” 

‘‘I don’t know,” Honor answered in sur- 
prise. If there really are any records, I sup- 
pose I could find them if necessary.” 

Then take an old lawyer’s advice, and find 
them,” the judge said with an earnestness his 
light laugh poorly covered. Pedigree is not as 
important as character, but still, we cannot 
always afford to ignore it.” And with another 
little laugh Judge Ketcham said “good-bye.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


SELF AND OTHER SELVES. 


“ It is not the deed we do, 

Though the deed be ever so fair, 

But the love the dear Lord looketh for, 
Hidden with holy care. 

In the heart of the deed so fair.^^ 

— Anon. 


A LWAYS when we close the door on pleasant 
visitors, the house seems quieter than usual, 
and our own hearts a little lonelier. And that 
afternoon, after watching the carriage drive 
awaj, when Honor returned to the parlor, it 
was with a very sober face that she began to 
arrange the furniture, and give the room its 
accustomed set-apart-for-company look. 

Mrs. Pennock and Mr. Royalston had accom- 
panied their guests. Janet and Ethel had 
started for a walk, and Honor felt lonely as 
well as left alone. With ‘‘ a wish that she 
hardly dared to own,” she thought of her little 
namesake, and gentle Mrs. Montgomery, and 
the professor. “ Oh dear, I do wish I had rela- 
tions, and belonged somewhere,” she sighed. 
It is well for us that our morbid inclinations 

( 243 ) 


244 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


often have to yield to the stern pressure of 
duties that must-be-done. Honor would have 
liked that afternoon to sit down in an easy 
chair, and indulge in the girlish luxury of a 
good cry. But there as the old family silver 
to put back in the safe, and the choice china, 
that was only used on rare occasions, to replace 
in the closet ; and with a brave effort Honor 
conquered her sentimental feelings and went 
resolutely about her tasks. 

Work is a great thought brightener; and 
when after a busy hour, Honor went to her 
room her face had cleared, and her morbid fan- 
cies were all forgotten. Drawing her favorite 
chair into a sunny window, she took up her 
little prize, and seated herself to enjoy as she 
hoped an hour of uninterrupted reading. But 
she had scarcely opened her book before Norah 
knocked on her door, and then unceremoni- 
ously opened it. 

“ Indeed, Miss Honor,” she said, it’s sorry 
I be to disturb you, but there is a little boy 
down-stairs that wants to see the mistress; and 
I think, maybe if you’ll come, it will be the 
easiest way to get rid of him.” 

Honor threw down her book, and a little un- 
willingly followed Norah to the kitchen. A 
small, bare-footed and ragged boy stood by the 


SELF AND OTHER SELVES. 245 

range, and looked soberly at her as she ap- 
proached him. 

‘‘ Well,” Honor said, after waiting a moment 
for him to make known his errand, “ who are 
you, little boy, and what do you want ? ” 

“ I’m Sam,” the boy answered while he 
shuffled awkwardly with his feet, “ an’ I don’t 
want nothin’ for myself, but marm says she 
wants most everything, an’ I guess she’s jes’ 
about right.” 

“ Who is your mother ? ” Honor asked. 

“ She’s the widder Black. That’s what folks 
called her where we’ve come from.” 

“ Then you don’t live in Pennock Manor ? ” 

“ No, we weren’t never here before, but you 
see marm was sick last summer, an’ we was 
awful poor, and when she got better she said 
she had relations somewhere, an’ she guessed 
we’d better go to ’em ; so we’ve been trampin’ 
a good while, but we ain’t found the relations; 
I don’t believe marm knows the way to ’em ; 
an’ now she’s sick agin, an’ can’t go no 
furder.” 

“ Where is she ? ” Honor asked with pitying 
interest. 

She’s in that old house in the hollow that’s 
most tumbled down. We come to it this 
mornin’, and marm said, there weren’t nobody 
to turn us out, and she guessed we’d better 


246 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

stop there, for she was jes’ tired out an’ 
couldn’t go on.” 

Honor glanced up at the clock. It was half- 
past three. It was more than a mile to the old 
house the boy had described; and Honor knew 
that the twilight of the short autumn afternoon 
would set in before she could go there and 
return ; and it was a lonely place, too, for Mrs. 
Pennock’s was the nearest house. 

For a moment Honor hesitated, and felt sel- 
fishly inclined to consider her own comfort and 
safety, but the next instant pity for the desti- 
tute boy conquered her selfishness. 

‘‘ Wait a moment, and I will go with you to 
see your mother,” she said as she left the 
kitchen. 

She sooii returned prepared for her walk. 

Come, I am ready now,” she said ; but to 
her surprise Sam looked at her with evident 
disapproval, and remained standing by the 
range. 

“ Why don’t you come, I am in a hurry ? ” 
Honor said sharply. 

The boy did not move. “’Cause I — ” he 
began slowly, and then, gaining confidence, he 
asked impetuously, “ain’t you goin’ to take 
nothin’ for her to eat? She ain’t had nothin’ 
to eat sense yesterday, an’ she said she b’lieved 
she was starvin’.” 


SELF A^B OTHER SELVES. 247 

Honor’s voice was full of compassion as she 
turned to the cook. “ I am sure Mrs. Pennock 
Vould want me to take her something,” she 
said. 

“ Indeed and she wouldn’t be Mrs» Pennock 
then if she didn’t,” the cook answered, as she 
brought a small basket and began to fill it. It 
was soon ready, and taking it up Honor started 
after the boy, who with his hands full of bread 
and butter had run on ahead. He had reached 
the poor old hovel and was standing in the 
door-way when she arrived. 

“Well, you be a slow walker, ain’t you,” he 
said disapprovingly. “I guess,” he added as 
he threw a glance over his shoulder into the 
room beyond, “you had better step quiet as 
you can, ’cause marm looks as if she might be 
asleep ” 

With the low promise, “ I’ll be quiet,” Honor 
brushed by the boy, and entered the only room 
in the wretched house. She stopped on the 
threshold, dismayed by the scene before her. 
All that she knew of destitution and extreme 
poverty she had learned from books, and now 
as she glanced about her, her heart ached and a 
pitiful moisture dimmed her eyes. 

There was no furniture and no fire in the 
room ; the floor was bare and dirty, and the one 
window was curtained with cobwebs and full of 


248 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

broken panes of glass. In one corner, wrapped 
in a ragged shawl, with her head pillowed on a 
small bundle, lay the sick woman. Her face 
was turned toward the wall, and she neither 
looked round nor stirred at Honor’s approach. 

“ She’s asleep, ain’t she ? ” Sam whispered. 

Honor nodded. “ I think she must be,” she 
said softly. 

The room seemed very chilly and damp, and 
perceiving that there was a fireplace Honor 
asked ; Can’t you find something to make a 
fire of?” 

‘‘ Marm wanted a fire this mornin’,” Sam an- 
swered dolefully, “but we ain’t got no matches.” 

Honor felt discouraged ; after all her self-de- 
nying efforts to be of use, there seemed to be 
nothing for her to do. “ Does your mother al- 
ways sleep so soundly ? ” she asked after she had 
waited some minutes. 

“ No. Most times she wakes if I jes’ stir,” 
Sam said ; “but marm ’lowed this mornin’ that 
she was drefful tired ; an’ drefful tired folks alius 
do sleep sound, don’t they ? ” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Honor replied, while a 
nervous fear, she could not explain, made her 
long for help and some other companion than 
that ignorant boy. 

“ I wish we had a doctor here,” she said in a 
moment. 


SELF Al^T) OTHER SELVES. 


249 


“ Marm ain’t never been no hand to have doc- 
tors,” Sam said with a wise nod of his head, 
“but she did go to one last summer, an’ he told 
her he guessed there was trouble here,” and as 
he spoke the boy laid his hand upon his heart. 

Honor grew pale as she listened to the boy's 
innocent statement. She stood a moment irres- 
olute, and then she stooped and laid her hand 
on the woman’s arm, 

“ Mrs. Black,” she called gently, but no an- 
swer came. With a fear that she could not 
bear to express in words. Honor left the wo- 
man’s side, and walked once or twice slowly 
across the room. Then she went back and 
looked once more at the motionless figure. She 
waited a minute, and then she laid her own 
warm hand on the still face. It was cold and 
no breath came from the parted lips. 

Honor drew back. She knew now that the 
quiet sleeper would never again feel weariness 
or pain; but she could not tell the unconscious 
boy. With a stern effort she suppressed all 
signs of emotion. 

“ Sam,” she said, while she felt in her pocket 
for a lead pencil, “ can you find me a piece of 
paper ? ” 

“ Ain’t got no paper, but this,” Sam said, as 
he took a circus advertisement out of his 
pocket. 


250 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

With a trembling hand Honor grasped the 
coarse handbill and wrote on the margin : “ This 
boy’s mother is dead ; please send help.” 

“ Carry this to the house I came from, and 
say it is for Mrs. Pennock,” she said as she 
folded the paper. “ It is for your mother,” she 
explained, as the boy looked doubtfully at her ; 
‘‘I want help for her. Go as fast as you 
can.” 

Sam nodded and darted off. Honor stood in 
the open door and watched him until he was 
out of sight ; then a sudden and almost appall- 
ing sense of loneliness came over her. She 
could not remain in that silent room, and draw- 
ing her shawl closer about her, she closed the 
door of the house, and stepped out into the lit- 
tle weed-choked garden. The short autumn day 
was just closing, and in the west the sky was all 
aglow with the rich gold of a November sunset. 
Honor walked down the little foot-path and 
leaned over the broken gate. The house stood 
by itself on a retired road ; no sound of life came 
to her ears, but a low wind just stirred the 
branches of the old pear tree that stood by the 
gate, and every now and then a withered leaf 
drifted slowly down and rested at her feet. 

The peaceful silence soothed and strengthened 
the excited* girl. In that solemn hush, when 
nature seemed kneeling at her evening prayer. 


SELF AND OTHER SELVES. 


251 


it was not hard to leave the poor, bare life that 
had just closed in God’s hands. But presently 
a new thought made Honor tremble and grow 
sick at heart. 

' What did it mean, this wretchedness and des- 
titution ? Whose fault was it that one of God’s 
children had known such cruel want, while oth- 
ers had more than they could use of this world’s 
good gifts ? Was it true that our lives were all 
linked together, and that in God’s sight we were 
all one great family ? Had she anything to do 
in this world, beyond caring for and making the 
most of herself? And what, with her limited 
means, and in her shut-in life, could she do to 
lessen the sobs in the night, and the dropping 
of tears, and the heart-broken moans that go up 
continually to God, from his suffering, and ig- 
norant, and sorrowing children? 

Honor could not answer her own questions; 
she could not tell what she could do to lighten 
the sum of human misery ; but in that lonely 
hour, with the solemn presence of death so near 
her, she realized, for the first time, that our ob- 
ligation to help others is only limited by our 
means to help them, and bowing her head on 
the old gate-post she prayed as she never had 
prayed before, not only that God would give 
her blessings, but that he would make her a 
blessing. 


252 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

Slowly the sunset colors faded, and the 
shadows of twilight gathered, and still Honor 
lingered by the gate. It was almost dark when 
Mrs. Pennock accompanied by Mr. Royalston 
and Sam arrived. 

“ My poor child,” Mrs. Pennock said with un- 
usual tenderness, ‘‘I am sorry you have had 
such a trying experience.” 

“ It must not be prolonged,” Mr. Royalston 
said as he saw Honor’s pale face. “ Come, Miss 
Honor, you are not needed here now, and I will 
take you home.” 

Home never seemed brighter or dearer to 
Honor than it did that evening, when she sat 
resting, in obedience to Mrs. Pennock’s wishes, 
in an easy chair before the library fire. The 
solemn yet tender hush, that falls upon us after 
contact with death, seemed to have touched not 
only Honor, and Mrs. Pennock, and Mr. Royal- 
ston, but even Janet and Ethel. They had all 
been quiet for some time when Mr. Royalston 
turned smilingly to Honor. 

“ A red leaf for your thoughts,” he said, as 
he picked up a bright autumn leaf lying on the 
floor, and tossed it into her lap. 

The sad curve of Honor’s lips did not change. 
“ I was wondering,” she said slowly, as if try- 
ing to disentangle her thoughts, “ how far we 
are responsible for the sufl'ering there is in the 


SELF AND OTHER SELVES. 


253 


world, and how far we ought to deny ourselves 
in order to relieve it? ” 

“ O Honor,” Ethel exclaimed, “ don’t ask us 
to consider such questions. You will have us 
all in the slough of despond very soon if you 
do.” 

“ There were ‘ steps ’ out of the slough of 
despond,” Mr. Royalston said kindly, “and I 
think if we try, we can find an answer to Miss 
Honor’s questions.” 

“ But after all, what is the use of trying to 
answer them?” Janet asked. “The world is 
full of suffering; we all know that, but if, in 
trying to relieve it, we sacrifice everything we 
have, it will amount to little more than empty- 
ing a doll’s tea-pot into the Atlantic. We have 
ourselves to take care of, and if we do that well 
I don’t think we ought to be expected to do 
much more.” 

“What do you think. Aunt Esther?” Mr. 
Royalston inquired. 

Mrs. Pennock dropped her knitting and ad- 
justed her spectacles. Then she folded her 
hands, as if ready for a long talk, and said 
calmly : 

“ I think the answer to the old question, ‘ Am 
I my brother’s keeper?^ will answer Janet 
now.” 

“We are apt to think everybody our brother’s 


254 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

keeper save ourselves,” Mr. Royalstoii said 
soberly. 

‘‘But,” Honor said in an eager voice, “sup- 
pose I acknowledge that I am my brother’s 
keeper, Mr. Royalston, still this question 
presses ; how much ought I to do for him ? Sup- 
pose I have just ihoney enough to buy myself 
shoes and stockings, and my brother has neither 
shoes nor stockings, now what shall I do ? How 
can I supply my own needs, and yet deal gener- 
ously with my brother? ” 

Mr. Royalston smiled a little. “The first 
thing we are to give our brother is our love,” he 
said, “ and when we do give him that it will be 
an easy matter to deal justly and generously 
with him.” 

Honor looked both troubled and perplexed. 
“ I know,” she said humbly, “ that love would 
solve many of our puzzles ; but still, Mr. Royal- 
ston, we do owe a duty to ourselves — ^for God 
has given us ourselves to take care of — and it is 
a hard question, how we are to do the best and 
the most for ourselves, and at the same time the 
best and the most for others ? ” 

Mr. Royalston was silent a moment ; then he 
asked quietly : “ Do you belong to yourself. 

Miss Honor?” 

“ Yes — no,” Honor said in a startled voice. 

“ The answer to your questions, as well as to 


SELF AND OTHER SELVES. 


255 


many other hard questions, all depends upon 
that little fact of ownership,” Mr. Royalston 
said with a grave smile. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Pennock said quaintly, “it 
depends upon the image and superscription 
stamped upon the tribute money.” 

“ I wish I could understand,” Ethel said with 
an affected laugh. “ Please, somebody, tell me ; 
if I don’t belong to myself, to whom do I be- 
long?” 

“ I should say to your Father in heaven,” Mr. 
Royalston answered. 

“ O — h ! ” Ethel exclaimed, “ is that what you 
mean ? Why, of course, we all know that we 
belong to God.” 

“ Then, if you know that, I think you know 
your duty,” Mr. Royalston said seriously. 

“ No,” Honor insisted, “ I am very stupid, I 
fear ; but, Mr. Royalston, in the case I have sup- 
posed, I do not know what my duty is.” 

Mr. Royalston’s face and voice changed as he 
answered Honor. “ Miss Honor,” he said, “ will 
you tell me how a loving and obedient child can 
best please a wise and generous father? ” 

“ I suppose,” Honor said after a moment’s 
thought, “ by making the best use of what the 
father gives.” 

“The best use for whom, and for whose 
sake ? ” Mr. Royalston asked. 


256 IN ONE giel’s experience. 

Honor’s face brightened as if a sunbeam had 
touched it. “Oh,” she said eagerly, as she 
caught his meaning, “ the child would make 
the most of herself for the father’s sake. I 
see, Mr. Royalston, I begin to understand.” 

“ Do you ? ” Mr. Royalston said, with a 
smile at her eagerness, “then-, Miss Honor, I 
believe now you can be trusted to answer your 
own questions. I do not think the puzzle 
about shoes and stockings will perplex you 
again.” 

“But it will me,” Ethel declared. “You 
must make your meaning plainer, Mr. Royal- 
ston, or I shall never have a new pair of shoes 
again, without feeling that I am defrauding 
some poorer person.” 

“ Do you really want to understand my 
meaning ? ” Mr. Royalston asked with a little 
doubt in his tone ; “ then listen, and I will try 
to make it clear.” 

“ Don’t preach too long a sermon, Vaughn,” 
Janet said daringly ; but Mr. Royalston had an 
earnest word to say now, and he did not heed 
her. 

“We acknowledge, if we are true Chris- 
tians,” he said gravely, “ that we belong to God ; 
and we acknowledge, too, that as Christians 
the one great duty of our life is to adorn the 
doctrine of our Lord in all things. We can 


SELF AND OTHER SELVES. 


257 


best adorn that doctrine by striving after per- 
fection in all things, even to the smallest 
detail. We can best honor God, by making 
ourselves as his children worthy of honor ; and 
in that spirit we will use the wealth, and all 
the other advantages God gives us. But 
understand,” and Mr. Royalston’s words were 
very emphatic now, “ understand that wealth 
that is held as a trust, to be used ‘in his name, 
and for his sake,’ will never be selfishly and un- 
worthily squandered. Shoes — ” and Mr. Royal- 
ston glanced smilingly at Honor — “books, 
education, dress suitable for his station, travel, 
if mind and body can be benefited by it, every- 
thing that the Father gives him the means to 
enjoy, a Christian has a right to enjoy ; if the 
enjoyment will help him to be a more complete 
and perfect Christian, better fitted to serve and 
honor his master.” 

Honor looked a little troubled again. “But 
after a Christian has done so much for himself, 
what — usually — will be left for his poorer 
brother ? ” she asked in a perplexed voice. 

“Are you still troubled over the old ques- 
tion how much is mine, and how much is 
thine ? ” Mr. Royalston asked. “ Miss Honor, 
one authoritative answer, that will settle that 
question for each individual soul, can never be 
given by any human being. The most unsel- 

17 


258 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


fish man, who is most sincerely consecrated to 
his master, may sometimes seem to the world 
altogether selfish, because it may be both neces- 
sary and right for him, in his Master’s service, 
to use every dollar his heavenly Father gives 
him for and on himself. But usually it is the 
Christian, who seeks in all things to adorn his 
profession, who has the most to give his 
brother ; for he allows no waste nor extrava- 
gance in his expenditures.” 

“You are right, Vaughn,” Mrs. Pennock 
said gently, “ but now let me make a little 
practical suggestion. In my opinion, the Chris- 
tians who give the most and have the most to 
give are the ones who give systematically. 
Honor — ” and Mrs. Pennock looked at the 
young girl with eyes that were as kind as they 
were wise — “your puzzle is one that Christian 
girls everywhere to-day are trying to work out, 
and yet it is not a difficult one. God gives to 
every man according ‘ to his several ability,’ 
and he asks from every man according to that 
ability. Your heavenly Father knows, just as 
well as we know, that the most of your small 
income you need for your own comfort and 
well being, and 5^ou may be sure, my child, 
that when God gives you the means for comfort 
he wishes you to be comfortable. But — ” and 
the little stress Mrs. Pennock laid on that word 


SELF AND OTHER SELVES. 


259 


made Honor lean forward, forgetful of all 
around her, to catch what was to follow — “ you 
can be very comfortable, and yet do without 
many little things, that simply please the eye 
for a moment, and benefit neither mind nor 
body. And there, my dear, is your opportu- 
nity to be self-denying, and to help your poorer 
brother. Renounce the useless little trifies, 
that are really the giants that swallow the 
dollars, and then set apart a certain portion of 
your income ; I think, where the income is 
small, the tenth is a good proportion — and give 
that regularly and systematically to missions 
and charities. If you follow this plan for one 
year, I do not believe you ever will give it 
up.” 

“ I shall like to see her after she has followed 
it a year,” Janet said saucily. ‘‘There won’t 
be a ribbon on her dress, nor a feather in her 
hat ; her' gowns will all be calico, and her gloves 
cotton.” 

Honor laughed merrily. “ That is a doleful 
picture, Janet,” she said, “but I don’t think it 
frightens me.” 

“ I hope this letter won’t frighten you, either,” 
Mr. Royalston said, as he handed her one Norah 
had just brought in. 

“ I mu$t read it before I can be sure of its ef- 
fect,” Honor said brightly, as she glanced at 


260 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


the address and recognized Miss Clark’s chirog- 
raphy. It was months since Honor had heard 
from her old friend, and it was with sincere 
pleasure that she opened the envelope and drew 
out the half sheet of blue foolscap. 

My Dear Honor — she quickly read : — 

Do you know that it is almost fifteen months since you 
and I left the dear old home in Broadfields ? I didn’t think 
when I said good-bye to you then, that I could live with- 
out hearing from and writing to you every month at least ; 
and yet I haven’t heard from you in six months, and this 
is only my second letter to you. Well, you see, Honor, the 
reason is just here; time goes faster than a steam engine, 
and every day brings with it things that must be done ; 
and the things we meant to do ; well, they are generally 
the very things we don’t do, and when we are in a hurry I 
don’t know of anything we are as apt to leave undone as 
writing letters, without it is saying our prayers. Well, 
Honor, I suppose you will think from this that I have been 
pretty hard at work since I came out here, and you won’t 
make any mistake if you do think so. Really, I don’t 
know which there is the most of in this great western 
world — work or room — there is so much of both. 

Cousin Sabrina and I live together. We agree pretty 
well, and we get along as comfortably as most folks out 
here — where nobody don’t expect to spend much time in 
rocking chairs — but you know she is a widow, and there 
ain’t no man on the place, and when a woman’s work 
reaches from the kitchen to the barn, and the hen-house 
and the wood-house have to come in between, it ain’t much 
wonder, in my opinion, if the work don’t never get done. 
I sometimes wish we had a good boy ; I am sure we could 
make one useful, and if I do say it, that oughtn’t to, I do 
believe a boy in my care would be pretty well off. 


SELF AND OTHER SELVES. 


261 


But then it ain’t no use wishing ; for good boys seem to 
be something like gold dollars — there are plenty of them 
in the world, and yet they are dreadful hard to get hold of. 

Well, Honor, I must say good-bye. I am powerful glad 
that you have such a good home, and if you will take 
my advice you will try to keep it, for a good home is just 
about the best thing this world can give to anyone. 

I must not forget to add, what I forgot to say, where I 
ought to have said it, at the beginning of this letter, that 
I am well and hope you are enjoying the same blessing. I 
have no more to say at present, except write soon. 

Your faithful friend, 

Melinda Clark. 

“ Many old memories were awakened by Miss 
Clark’s letter, and Honor smiled and sighed 
more than once while reading it ; but one 
thought was uppermost in her mind when she 
finished it, and as she slowly folded it she 
asked : 

‘‘ What is going to be done with Sam ? ’ 

Mrs. Pennock looked grave. “ God has sent 
him to us, and we must care for him,” she said, 

but if ‘ it is an awkward thing to play with 
souls,’ it is just as awkward and hard a thing to 
plan a boy’s life ; and I can make no arrange- 
ments for Sam to-night. 

“Perhaps God has already arranged for him,” 
Honor said thoughtfully. “ Wouldn’t a home 
in the West be desirable for him ?” 

“ If we could find one — in a Christian fam- 
ily,” Mrs. Pennock said doubtfully. 


262 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

With a little smile Honor opened her letter 
and read Miss Clark’s wish for a good boy. 
‘‘ Don’t the need and the supply meet here,” she 
asked. 

Mrs. Pennock nodded. “ It does look like a 
Providence guide-post,” she said quaintly. 

You had better follow it,” Mr. Royalston 
advised. 

I’ll make sure, first, that it is what it looks 
like,” Mrs. Pennock said ; “ but. Honor, you 
may write to Miss Clark and ask her if she is 
willing to take a boy whose goodness is an un- 
known quantity.” 

Miss Clark’s answer to that question was 
prompt and satisfactory ; and in a few days the 
boy — whose history was like his goodness — ar- 
rived at his Western home. 


V 


CHAPTER XV. 


A TUKN-A-ROUND, 


“For patience when the rough winds blow, 

For patience when our hopes are fading, 
When visible things all backward go 

And nowhere seems the power of aiding ; 
God still enfolds thee with his viewless hand. 
And leads thee surely to the Fatherland.’^ 


— M. L. Frothingham. 



IS HONOR, Miss Honor; are you 
awake ? ” 


It was early in the morning, and Honor was 
still dreaming happily, when Norah’s voice 
aroused her. 

“ Yes,” she answered, as she sprang up and 
opened her door. ‘‘ What is the matter? ” 

“ Oh an’ indeed, Miss Honor, we are in lots 
of trouble, for Maggie’s sick, an’ I’m sure I 
don’t know who’s to cook the breakfast, for I 


can’t.” 


“Well, I can,” Honor answered cheerfully. 
“Don’t disturb Mrs. Pennock. I will attend 
to everything.” 

Honor’s confidence in herself was well- 
founded. In the months she had been with 


( 263 ) 


264 IN ONE gikl’s experience. 

Mrs. Pennock she had changed from an igno^ 
rant girl to a competent housekeeper. One new 
duty after another had been wisely laid upon 
her by Mrs. Pennock, and she was not only 
well-read in her receipt books now, but she 
knew how to make practical use of her knowl- 
edge. The breakfast that morning was a* great 
success, but no one suspected that Honor had 
been filling Maggie’s place, and she listened to 
the praises bestowed upon her muffins and 
coffee and maintained a demure silence. 

Maggie’s illness, though not serious, made 
her for several days unfit for her work, and 
through those days Honor, with much secret 
satisfaction, continued to reign over the sauce^ 
pans. She did her work with thoroughness 
and skill, and she felt well-rewarded when one 
morning at breakfast Mr. Royalston remarked 
unsuspectingly : 

‘‘Aunt Esther, I think Maggie must have 
been attending a cooking-school lately. Noth- 
ing could be lighter than her rolls this morn- 
ing, unless, indeed, her waffles last night sur- 
passed them.” 

“Maggie indeed,” Mrs. Pennock said play- 
fully. “ Much do you know about my culinary 
arrangements, Vaughn. Maggie is ill, and you 
have not eaten a thing cooked by her in three 
days.” 


A TUEN-A-EOUND. 


265 


“Maggie ill,” exclaimed Janet and Ethel to- 
gether, “ why we didn't know it.” 

“It was not necessary that you should 
know it,” Mrs. Pennock replied coolly. “ When 
things get a little awry in the kitchen, a good 
housekeeper doesn’t blow a trumpet, and pro- 
claim her troubles from the house roof.” 

“Well,” Janet said, “I think we will have 
to admit that you are a good housekeeper. 
Aunt Esther, for at home, when the cook fails 
the whole family has to put on sackcloth and 
sit down in dust and ashes. But how could 
you fill Maggie’s place so easily ? ” 

“Ask Honor,” Mrs. Pennock answered. 

“ Honor,” Ethel exclaimed ; “ why Honor, do 
you know how to cook? ” 

“ Since every mouthful you have eaten in 
the last three days has been prepared by 
Honor, I thing she may truthfully answer your 
question in the affirmative,” Mrs. Pennock said. 

“ Did you know how to cook when you came 
here. Honor? ” Janet asked in a moment. 

“No,” Honor answered with a grateful glance 
at Mrs. Pennock, “ all I know I have learned 
under Mrs. Pennock’s kind instruction.” 

A curious look crossed Janet’s face. “You 
ought to graduate soon,” she said, “ and some 
other ignorant girl ought to have the benefit of 
Aunt Esther’s teachings.” 


266 IN ONE gikl’s experience. 

Mr. Royalston, who had opened his paper, 
glanced up as Janet spoke and gave her a keen 
look, but Honor only smiled. . 

“I don’t want to graduate,” she said grate- 
fully, “ I only want to remain in my present 
school and go on studying and improving.” 

Once more that curious expression crossed 
Janet’s face. For days she had been wonder- 
ing how she could accomplish her purpose, and 
spirit Honor out of her aunt’s house. Now the 
morning’s conversation had suggested a plan to 
her active mind, and she resolved if possible to 
act upon it. Though she knew that she was 
jealous of her aunt’s regard for Honor, she was 
not honeat enough to own as much even to her- 
self. And though she would gladly have 
availed herself of an opportunity — if one had 
offered — to prejudice Mrs. Pennock against 
Honor, still she felt that she should be better 
satisfied with herself, if she could manage to 
send Honor from Pennock Manor in such a way 
that she would seem to be considering only her 
best interests. 

When we have once determined to do a mean 
thing the way to do it will soon offer ; and 
Janet, when a little later that morning she 
received a letter from her mother, congratulated 
herself that all things seemed to be working 
together for the accomplishment of her scheme. 


A TUEN-A-EOUND. 


267 


She had expected in a few days to return to 
her home in the city, but now her mother wrote 
that business would call her father South in 
December, and they had decided to close their 
house and spend the winter in Florida. Janet 
^ had been South, she did not care now to ac- 
company her parents ; and soon with an inge- 
nuity that was skillful, if not praiseworthy, she 
had her designs all satisfactorily arranged in 
her own mind. 

“Aunt Esther,” she said that afternoon, 
when she found Mrs. Pennock alone in the 
library, “ Aunt Esther, I want to ask a very 
great favor of you.” 

Janet was her sister’s only daughter, and 
Mrs. Pennock was very fond of her. Yet she 
was not blind to her faults, and she often felt 
doubtful of her sincerity. Now she studied her 
face for a moment, and then she said coolly, 
“ Well, you can ask.” 

Janet felt that her aunt’s mood was not a 
very propitious one, but she would not be 
daunted. “Aunt Esther,” she began, “don’t 
you think that every young girl ought to be 
educated in housekeeping affairs as well as 
in books ? ” 

Janet had skillfully touched one of Mrs. Pen- 
nock’s pet theories. “ Of course I do,” she re- 
plied promptly. “ If a girl is going to be mar- 


268 m ONE girl’s experience. 

ried, and have a home to make happy, she had 
much better — if she must choose between the 
two — know how to make good bread than how 
to read Greek.” 

“That is just what I think, Aunt Esther,” 
Janet said meekly, “ and I feel very badly when 
I think how useless and ignorant I am in my 
own home.” 

“ You have got two hands, why don’t you go 
to work, and make yourself useful then ? ” Mrs. 
Pennock said sharply. 

“Because, Aunt Esther, mamma is always 
changing servants, and our kitchen is always in 
a state of chaos out of which order never comes. 
There is no chance there for me to learn how to 
do anything well ; but if I could learn some- 
where else, then, when I am at home I really 
might be of some use, and add a good deal to 
to the comfort of the family.” 

Mrs. Pennock looked interested. “ Your 
mother does make hard work of housekeeping,” 
she said, “ and you are right in thinking you 
might be a great help to her. But how can I 
help you in this matter, Janet; what is the favor 
you want me to grant you ? ” 

“ You can help me a great deal, if you only 
will, dear Aunt Esther,” Janet said coaxingly, 
“ and the favor I want to ask is one you can 
easily grant. 1 want you to let me spend this 


A TURN-A-ROUKD. 


269 


winter with you while papa and mamma are 
South.” 

“ Is that all ? ” Mrs. Pennock said. “ Why, 
of course, Janet, as long as you can be happy 
here, I am happy to have you stay.” 

“No, that is not quite all I want,” Janet said 
slowly, “ I want my stay here to benefit all my 
after life. Aunt Esther.” 

“Humph,” Mrs. Pennock responded, “the 
benefit you receive, Janet, will depend upon 
yourself, I imagine.” 

“ No, Aunt Esther, it will depend upon the 
place you give me in your family.” 

“ Well, come to the point, and tell me frankly 
what place you want? ” Mrs. Pennock said in a 
voice a little suspicious as well as irritated. 

Janet laid her hand on Mrs. Pennock’s arm 
and looked pleadingly into her face. “Aunt 
Esther,” she said meekly, “ I want you to give 
me Honor’s place, and treat me just as you do 
her.” 

“ Give you Honor’s place,” Mrs. Pennock ex- 
claimed, “ and, pray, what do you wish me to 
do with Honor ? ” 

“ Nothing that will not be for her best good,” 
Janet said in a tone of well-feigned sincerity. 
“Now please don’t speak for a minute,” she 
coaxed, as she saw that Mrs. Pennock was about 
to give her a sharp answer. “ Please let me tell 


270 IN ONE gikl’s experience. 

you all my plan, and then, if you disapprove, 
why, I will try to bear my disappointment.^’ 

‘‘Very well, tell me your brilliant plan, 
then,” Mrs. Pennock said, in a tone that de- 
noted more indignation than interest. 

“ Aunt Esther,” Janet began humbly, “ please 
do not think that I have not considered Honor’s 
interests in this matter as well as my own.” 
Mrs. Pennock frowned, but Janet went bravely 
on. “ Since Honor came to you, Aunt Esther, 
she has learned how to do all kinds of useful 
work, but she is very bright and beautiful” — it 
was hard for Janet to make this admission, but 
she could do it in order to attain her object — 
“ and she ought to be fitting herself to be some- 
thing more than an upper servant all her 
life.” 

“ Pshaw,” Mrs. Pennock ejaculated, but Janet 
saw that her arguments were producing the 
effect she desired, and with new courage she 
continued. “ Now, Aunt Esther, this is my 
plan. I need just the training and the experi- 
ence in your house that have been such a benefit 
to Honor ; but Honor, now, is ready for some- 
thing different and higher. Give me her place, 
and— don’t speak just yet,” Janet begged, for 
Mrs. Pennock moved impatiently — “and let 
Honor go to Professor Montgomery’s to read 
English literature with him this winter.” 


A TURN-A-EOUND. 


271 


“What?” Mrs. Pennock exclaimed, “what 
put that plan into your head, Janet? ” 

“ Nothing more foolish than Mrs. Montgom- 
ery’s own letter, that you received yesterday,” 
Janet answered. “ Don’t you remember, Aunt 
Esther, Mrs. Montgomery said the professor was 
writing a book — The Bible in the Literature of 
the 19th Century, wasn’t it ? — but his eyes were 
troubling him, and he wanted very much to find 

some young person to read to him ” 

“ He didn’t want Honor, though,” Mrs. Pen- 
nock interrupted quickly. 

“ He would want her, if you would give her 
to him,” Janet insisted. “Now, Aunt Esther,” 
she urged, “ can’t you see what a great thing it 
would be for Honor to pursue a course of read- 
ing with Professor Montgomery ? She has liter- 
ary tastes — I know that from the compositions 
she used to write at school — and a few months 
with Professor Montgomery will do more to cul- 
tivate and enrich her mind, than years of such 
dull plodding over her old school books as I be- 
lieve she is doing now.” 

Mrs. Pennock looked thoughtful. “There is 
some sense in what you say, Janet,” she ad- 
mitted, “but then” — and her face brightened 
— “ I have never intended to make a servant of 
Honor, and all the time she wants for study and 
reading this winter I will give her.” 


272 m ONE girl’s experience. 

“ But you cannot give her such a teacher as 
Professor Montgomery would be,” Janet said 
shrewdly ; “ and then, — don’t you see, Aunt 
Esther — with Honor here I cannot take her 
place and learn as I want to.” 

There was a little flash in Mrs. Pennock’s 
eyes as she turned them full on Janet. “ If you 
do take Honor’s place you will have to fill it,” 
she said with decision. “ Your duties will 
have to be thoroughly performed. There will 
no shamming allowed because you are my 
niece.” 

Janet had already considered the probability 
that Mrs. Pennock would be exacting. It was 
not a pleasant situation that she was manoeu- 
vering for, but she believed she could soon find 
a way out of it ; her first desire however was 
to secure it, and now she clapped her hands, and 
said promptly, “ That is just what I wish, Aunt 
Esther. Well, is it all settled then ? ” 

No, it is not all settled : you are not the 
only one to be considered in this business,” 
Mrs. Pennock said in a peremptory and yet sad 
tone. “ Say nothing to any one about this 
until I give you leave,” she said with a little 
gesture of dismissal. 

Janet stooped and kissed her aunt’s cheeks. 
“ You are a dear, kind auntie,” she said, “ and 
I believe you will make a good and useful 


A TUEN-A-EOUND. 


273 


woman of me yet, and if you do, I shall bless 
you always.” 

“ Perhaps,” Mrs. Pennock said ; but though 
her voice softened a little, her eyes followed 
Janet doubtfully as she left the room. 

“ Is she sincere ? ” she asked herself ; “ her 
arguments seem good, but what are her true 
motives?” 

Mrs. Pennock considered that question a few 
minutes, and then went in search of her nephew. 
“ Vaughn,” she said, “would you think it de- 
sirable for a young person to study literature 
under Professor Montgomery ? ” 

“ I should think the young person very fortu- 
nate who was able to do so,” Mr. Royalston 
answered. 

“ Well, you heard me read Mrs. Montgom- 
ery’s letter yesterday, you know the professor 
wants a reader?” 

“I believe I did hear something to that 
effect,” Mr. Royalston answered indifferently. 

“Well, what do you think of my sending 
Honor to him ? ” 

“ Honor ? ” Mr. Royalston threw down his 
book ; walked to the fire-place, and gave the 
wood smouldering there a savage poke. 
“Honor?” he repeated. 

“ Yes. Janet has been talking to me. She 
is suddenly fired with an ambition to be of some 
18 


274 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

use in her home. She wants me to give her 
Honor’s place for this winter, and let Honor 
go to the professor. Now, what do you think 
of the plan? ” and Mrs. Pennock looked anx' 
iously at her nephew. 

‘‘ I distrust Janet,” he said in a stern voice. 

Mrs. Pennock sighed. ‘‘ I am afraid she has 
some hidden motive,” she acknowledged, “ but 
still her arguments are worthy of consideration. 
She would be a great help to her mother if she 
were a well-trained housekeeper, and if she 
stays with me” — and Mrs. Pennock smiled a 
little grimly — “ I can promise her that she will 
be trained. But ” — and Mrs. Pennock’s voice 
grew very serious — “ I am most anxious now to 
consider Honor’s interest, Vaughn. The girl is 
very capable, and a few years will make a beau- 
tiful woman of her. She ought to be fitted to 
fill any position. If she stays with me this 
winter I will give her all the time she ought to 
have for reading and study, but she will have 
to work alone ; will it be better for her to read 
under Professor Montgomery ? If she goes to 
him,” Mrs. Pennock added slowly, “ I shall 
request him to give her every possible benefit.” 

“I wish I was going to be here this winter,” 
Mr. Roya-lston said soberly. 

Mrs. Pennock straightened her spectacles and 
fastened her bright eyes on her nephew. “ So 


A TURN-A-ROUND. 


275 


do I wish you were going to be here,” she 
answered. ‘‘You know I do not half approve 
of your going off on that scientific expedition 
to Africa, but even if you were going to be 
here, I don’t know how your presence could 
affect this question.” 

“ I would direct Miss Honor’s reading my- 
self,” Mr. Royals ton replied gravely. 

“ You ? ” Mrs. Pennock hesitated, frowned 
a little, and then smiled. “ I think,” she said 
shrewdly, “if it has come to a choice between 
you and Professor Montgomery; I had better 
send her to the professor.” 

Honor’s astonishment when Janet’s plan was 
first explained to her was indescribable. At 
first she could not believe that the change pro- 
posed was seriously intended, and it was not 
until after a long and tearful talk with Mrs. 
Pennock that she finally consented to go to the 
professor. But though she knew that Mrs. 
Pennock was unselfishly anxious to consider 
her interests, she could not believe that the 
change would do her good or prove a happy 
one. 

“ Am I to congratulate you. Miss Honor ? ” 
Mr. Royalston asked, when he met her in the 
parlor, on the day when it was finally decided 
that she was to spend the winter with Profes- 
sor Montgomery. 


276 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“ For what ? ” she asked in a discontented 
voice. ‘‘ For my resemblance to Noah’s dove ? ” 

Mr. Royalston smiled. “I believe you do 
resemble that famous bird in a way that you are 
not thinking of,” he said. “ The dove returned 
to the ark when she found no resting-place, you 
remember, and always while my aunt lives this 
home will be open to you. You will always 
find a resting-place here, if no where else.” 

‘‘So Mrs. Pennock says,” Honor answered 
sadly. But one can never go back and live 
the same life twice over; I don’t believe I shall 
ever come back here to stay again, and if I do 
everything will be changed.” 

‘‘ In what way, if you please ? ” Mr. Royal- 
ston asked playfully. 

Honor looked at him reproachfully. ‘‘ I 
don’t know,” she said in a vexed tone, “of 
course, I cannot read the future.” 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon,” Mr. Royalston an- 
swered. “ Your words sounded so prophetic 
that I really was not sure but you knew what 
changes are to occur here.” 

“ Don’t laugh at me,” Honor said with a 
child’s impulsiveness. “ I have been very 
happy here, and you don’t know how hard it 
seems now to be sent away when I don’t want 
to go.” 

Mr. Royalston made a quick movement and 


A TUEN-A-ROUND. 


277 


then stood still and folded his arms. “Miss 
Honor,” he said gently, “ who do you think is 
really ordering your life ? ” 

Honor’s lips trembled. “ I suppose God is,” 
she said slowly, “ but — sometimes, it is very 
hard to believe so.” 

“ What makes the belief so hard ? ” Mr. Roy- 
alston asked. 

“ Everything,” Honor answered with unusual 
vehemence. “ When everything goes contrary 
to our wishes, isn’t it hard to believe that God 
is" behind all that happens, and is ordering all 
things for our best good.” 

Mr. Royalston watched her troubled face for 
a moment, and then he said, “ Yes, it is often 
hard to believe so. Miss Honor, but would you 
know why ? Listen,” and in a low voice, that 
seemed touched with some deep feeling, Mr. 
Royalston repeated : 

“ * Faith fails ; 

Its foes alarm, 

And persecution's threats disarm. 

False friend can scarcely wish it a good day, 

Before it taketh fright and flees away. 

When God doth guard what foe prevails ? 

Why then the fear ? 

Faith fails. ^ ” 

“ Is not that true ? ” he asked gravely. “ Is 
not want of faith the great cause of your dis- 
tress now ? ” 


278 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

She would not answer his question. ‘‘ It is 
natural to feel sad, when we have to leave those 
who have been kind to us, and go among 
strangers,” she said. 

‘‘ Yes,” he kindly assented,” but the child 
who holds the Father’s hand never fears to go 
where the Father leads.” 

‘‘ Sometimes we are not sure of the leading,” 
Honor answered. “ Mr. Royalston ” — and she 
looked up with a child’s confidence into his 
face — ‘‘ I will tell you how I feel. I do not 
believe Janet is my friend. I believe she has 
been working to get me sent away from here. 
I believe her reasons for wanting me to leave 
here are mean ones ; and so, since she has suc- 
ceeded in her designs, how can I believe that 
my leaving is one of God’s leadings ? ” 

Mr. Royalston could not deny that Honor’s 
suspicions were true, but he would not touch 
on that subject. 

“ Miss Honor,” he said with grave gentleness, 
‘‘whatever causes have led to your leaving 
here, they are but second causes. God is be- 
hind them all. If you are his child he has a 
plan for your life, and that plan, if you trust 
yourself to him, will be made to work for your 
best happiness here and hereafter. You must 
believe this,” he kindly insisted. “ You must 
never doubt your heavenly Father’s guidance ; 


A TURN-A-ROUND. 


279 


and then when a cloud darkens the blue of 
your sky you will always be able to see the 
rainbow in it.” 

Honor stood still and looked sorrowfully out 
of the window ; and after a moment’s silence 
Mr. Royalston resumed, “ There is one thing 
in this arrangement that makes me very glad 
for you. You are not going to entire strangers. 
You will find Professor Montgomery and his 
wife as lovely in their home as they seemed 
here ; they will give you a friend’s warm wel- 
come.” 

“ They may,” Honor said a little ungra- 
ciously, “ but I don’t know — I believe the pro- 
fessor thinks his family better than mine ; you 
remember he wouldn’t give me a place in his 
tree.” 

“ Miss Honor,” and Mr. Royalston’s voice 
sounded almost stern, “ do you know that you 
make me think of a naughty child? I feel 
strongly inclined to scold you a little, for you 
seem to me disposed to-day to manufacture 
clouds, and then to look at them through a 
magnifying glass. You know,” he continued 
gravely, “ that I am myself going away on an 
African expedition. It may be long before I 
have a chance to preach to you again; now let 
me once more take the privilege of a friend — 
more anxious for your happiness than you can 


280 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

understand — and beg you to do two things — 
conquer the pride that so often leads you 
astray — oftener than you believe, pride is at the 
bottom of all your wounded feelings. Crush that 
pride ; it has no place in heaven ; give it none 
in your heart. And one thing more : never 
suffer yourself to doubt your heavenly Father’s 
love : cultivate faith as you would the seed of 
some choice flower ; cherish it, and it will 
make your life beautiful. Will you do this? ” 
— and Mr. Royalston held out his hand — 
‘‘ promise me, I want your promise.” 

With eyes so dim that she could not see his 
face Honor laid her hand in his. I will try 
to do so,” she softly promised. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


IN THE STUDY. 

“ God^s leadings often crossed their inclinations, 

The pillar went too fast or went too slow, 

It stayed too long to suit their restless tempers; 

Or when they wished to stay it bade them go. 

And so they murmured, murmured very often, 

Their sinful hearts rebelled against the light ; 

And had not God been strong and very patient. 

They never would have found their way aright.” 

— Author of “ The Oldj Old Story 

JF it were not for the unsought and undesired 
changes that come so often in our lives, per- 
haps we would never truly appreciate our bless- 
ings, or know when we were happy. Honor’s fif- 
teen months with Mrs. Pennock had been peace- 
ful months, undarkened by any real trials or 
sorrows ; yet while they were passing Honor had 
known many rebellious and discontented hours. 
Now it seemed very strange to the poor girl, 
that just as she began to prize her privileges 
in Mrs. Pennock’s house, and to profit by them, 
she should be so suddenly deprived of them, 
and obliged once more to go forth as a stranger 
among strangers. 


( 281 ) 


282 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

She believed in Mrs. Pennock’s sincerity 
when she told her that her own good was her 
only motive in consenting to the change ; but 
Honor dolefully felt that she might have been 
allowed to decide what would be best for her- 
self ; and it was with a heavy heart and a 
gloomy face that she made her preparations for 
leaving Pennock Manor. Mr. Royalston’s kind 
words helped her much — for sympathy is an 
invaluable help over hard places — but still her 
last day in Pennock Manor was a very sad one. 

A telegram summoned Mr. Royalston to the 
city that morning, and his farewell was hur- 
riedly, and— as it seemed to Honor — coldly 
spoken. Ethel had already gone home, and 
Janet’s undisguised satisfaction, in the changes 
that her influence had brought about, not only 
wounded Honor, but made it very hard for her 
to part with her pleasantly. 

Honor was to leave Pennock Manor very 
early in the morning, and her dread of the last 
long evening in the library with Janet and 
Mrs. Pennock, made her linger over her pack- 
ing until she heard Janet come up-stairs to go 
to bed. Then she opened her door and stepped 
out into the hall. 

“ Good-bye,” she said soberly, as Janet was 
passing her, ‘‘ I don’t suppose I will see you in 
the morning, Janet.” 


IN THE STUDY. 


283 


Janet stopped. “ No,” she said carelessly, 
“ since you are going to start before daybreak 
it is not likely that I’ll be up. Well, good- 
bye,” she added as she just touched the tips of 
Honor’s fingers, I hope you will like your 
new place.” 

There was an intentional sting in Janet’s 
last words that made Honor quiver with indig- 
nation. She did not attempt to answer her ; 
she waited until she heard her lock her door, 
and then she went slowly down-stairs and into 
the library. Mrs. Pennock was still there ; she 
had dropped her work, and was sitting with 
folded hands thoughtfully watching the dying 
fire. She looked up as Honor entered, and the 
smile with which she greeted her was touched 
with some feeling at once sad and sweet. 

“ I was just thinking of you, my dear,” she 
said gently ; ‘‘ what have you been doing all this 
evening ? ” 

“ Packing,” Honor said with a sigh. 

“ Then I am sure you are tired ; sit down 
there in Vaughn’s chair” — and Mrs. Pennock 
motioned to the easy chair Mr. Royalston 
usually occupied—- ‘‘ I want to talk to you for a 
few minutes.” 

Honor dropped into the luxurious chair; 
rested her weary head against the soft cushions, 
and looked moodily into the fire. Mrs. Pen- 


284 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

nock watched her face for a moment, and then 
she said kindly ; “ Honor, I am very sorry to 
part with you, but the more I consider this 
arrangement the better satisfied I feel that it is 
in all respects a good one for you.” 

Oh, don’t,” Honor almost sobbed, “ don’t 
talk of its being good for me to go away from 
here when it is almost breaking my heart. I 
have been happy here, Mrs. Pennock. I felt 

sheltered and safe, and now” Honor’s voice 

choked. Oh, you don’t know” — she sobbed 
in a moment — how hard it is to be driven out 
again among strangers.” 

“But you are not driven out; and you are 
not going among strangers,” Mrs. Pennock 
said with kind decision. “ Professor and Mrs. 
Montgomery remember you very pleasantly, 
and they will be very kind to you ; but, Honor, 
I have only consented to part with you, because 
I want you to be not only a thorough house- 
keeper, but a cultured woman, with every 
talent you possess made the most of. I have 
done what I could to train your hands ; now 
under Professor Montgomery’s instruction your 
mind will be trained as it could not be here. 
And Honor,” and Mrs. Pennock spoke very 
tenderly now, “ this separation is only for a 
short time. When Janet leaves me in the 
spring you shall return. Pennock Manor will 


IN THE STUDY. 


285 


always be your home, and if ever you are in 
any trouble you must come to me at once.” 

Honor’s lips curved with a pitiful smile as 
she looked at Mrs. Pennock. You are very 
kind, and you don’t know how much I thank 
you for all you have done for me,” she said 
sadly, “ but I don’t believe I ever shall come 
back here ; and” — with a sudden burst of tears 
— “ I don’t believe I shall ever again be as 
happy as I have been here.” 

Mrs. Pennock’s own eyes grew a little misty 
as she watched the sobbing girl, but her answer 
was quick and positive. 

“ Nonsense,” she said cheerfully, ‘^before you 
have been with the Montgomerys a week you 
will, I dare say, wonder how you could ever 
have been contented and happy here. There 
are a good many more sunny days than dark 
ones in most lives, Honor ; and the changes that 
God orders for his children are much oftener 
happy than sad.” 

Honor shook her head doubtfully. “ They 
don’t seem to be so in my life,” she said sor- 
rowfully. 

“Your life has but just begun,” Mrs. Pen- 
nock said gently; “you do not know what 
beautiful and glad surprises God may be holding 
in reserve for you. But, my dear, I am not sure 
that our own happiness is the chief thing we 


286 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

are to seek in this life. I know the young are 
apt to feel that life is a failure if it does not 
give them happiness, but a wise man once said, 
‘ One can do without happiness and find bless- 
edness,’ and I, my child, through the experi- 
ences of many long years, have learned to be- 
lieve, that the surest way to find happiness for 
ourselves is to seek to bestow it upon others.” 

Honor’s only answer was a heavy sigh : pity 
for herself was the strongest feeling in her 
young and impulsive heart just then, and Mrs. 
Pennock understood her, and felt no desire to 
chide her. 

‘‘ It is time you were in bed. Honor,” Mrs. 
Pennock said when the silence between herself 
and Honor had been unbroken for some min- 
utes. ‘‘You have a long journey before you 
to-morrow, and you must not sit up late to- 
night.” 

Slowly and unwillingly Honor arose from her 
chair. “ Good-night,” she said, but Mrs. Pen- 
nock extended her hand and drew her close to 
her. With a tenderness of manner, that Honor 
never forgot, she laid her hand on the girl’s 
bright hair, and whispered fondly : 

“ May the Lord guide thee and guard thee : 
good-bye, my child.” 

The sky was still bright with stars the next 
morning when Norah knocked on Honor’s door. 


IN THE STUDY. 


287 


‘‘ Your breakfast is ready for you, Miss Honor, 
and the man is here for your trunk,” she said. 

It was well for Honor that she had no time 
for idle and useless regrets : by the time she 
was dressed, and had swallowed her cup of 
coffee, the carriage was at the door, and the 
coachman was calling impatiently that it would 
soon be time for the train. It was so early that 
Honor would not disturb Mrs. Pennock by go- 
ing to her room, but just as she was seated in 
the carriage Norah brought her a small pack- 
age. Mrs. Pennock had sent it with her love, 
the girl said ; and through her lonelj^ ride to the 
station Honor held it close, for it seemed to em- 
body all the love there was for her in the world. 

It was still dark when she took her seat in 
the car ; but with sure and beautiful changes 
from shadow to light, the dawn broke, the sun 
rose, and the morning deepened into a radiant 
day. For a little while Honor gave herself up 
to sad and tearful memories ; she reviewed all 
her life since her father’s death, and then, with 
a morbid determination to be miserable, she be- 
gan to anticipate the annoyances and trials 
awaiting her in her new home. She had just 
made up her mind that she was very unfortu- 
nate and very much to be pitied, when her eyes 
fell on the little package in her lap. 

She knew that it was a book, and a little 


288 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


curious to know what book Mrs. Pennock 
would give her as a farewell gift she untied the 
pink cord and unfolded the paper in which it 
was wrapped. Then once more her eyes filled 
with tears, for the little volume was a beauti- 
fully bound copy of “ Thomas a Kempis ; and 
on the fly leaf, Mrs. Pennock had written her 
name, and after it the tender assurance, “ If 
thou bear thy cross cheerfully it will soon bear 
thee.” For some time Honor studied those 
words and then she soberly turned the leaf. 
To her great surprise a familiar little white 
card was waiting for her there ; and in Mrs. 
Pennock’s hand writing she saw written : 

Honoe Montgomeey’s Duties foe the Rest of Hee 
Life. 

1st. Be cheerful; never darken another's sky with your 
own clouds. 

2nd. Be courageous ; never waste your imagination in 
inventing bugbears. 

3rd. Be helpful ; remember God has given you two 
hands that with them you may bestow as well as receive 
blessings. 

4th. Be thoughtful of others ; remember the old beati- 
tude, blessed are the happiness makers. 

5th. Be faithful in the least things ; remember the old 
sculptor who carved the back of his statue as carefully as 
the front, because the gods see everywhere. 

6th. Be a Bible student and a follower of Christ ; remem- 
ber the old Jewish proverb, if you would be fragrant keep 
close to the seller of perfumes. 


IN THE STUDY. 


289 


Honor read and re-read that little card. It 
caused her a sharp pang of pain as she thought 
that it was the last one she would ever receive 
from Mrs. Pennock, and she touched it tend- 
erly with her lips as she thought of the kind 
feeling that had induced Mrs. Pennock to write 
it. Then she remembered that there was no 
time like the present for the performance of 
duty, and she resolutely cleared her face, and 
made a brave and not unsuccessful attempt to 
be cheerful. 

Swiftly the day advanced, and the cars flew 
on. Late in the afternoon Honor exchanged 
the cars for a stage, and just at dusk her long 
journey ended. 

The kind welcome she received from both 
Mrs. Montgomery and the professor made her 
ashamed of her ungracious forebodings ; and 
when her bright little namesake dashed impul- 
sively into her arms with the happy cry, “ Miss 
Honor Montgomery, I is very glad you is come 
to live with us,” Honor made a Arm resolve 
that she would try to be glad too. 

She looked forward with a good deal of dread 
to her Arst day in the professor’s study ; but 
nothing was said about her work until the next 
morning, as they left the breakfast table, the 
professor said, pleasantly : 

19 


290 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


“Well, my little reader, do you feel rested 
and strong enough for work to-day ? ” 

Honor could not resist the cheerful hearti- 
ness of the professor’s voice, and she smiled in 
spite of her fears as she answered : 

“ Oh, yes, I am quite rested, but — ” she 
added timidly — “ I am afraid you will find me 
very ignorant.” 

Professor Montgomery smiled. “ I do not 
expect to find you an Admirable Crichton,” 
he said playfully, “but if you bring patience 
and application into my study I will pardon 
your ignorance. Come to me at nine o’clock, 
and we will begin our battle with the books.” 

Punctually at the hour appointed Honor 
found her way to the study. Professor Mont- 
gomery was already there. He was sitting at 
his writing table so surrounded with books that 
he looked as if he were barricaded with them. 
On her way to the table Honor stumbled over a 
set of huge encyclopedias, and when she stood 
before the professor, while he sat in his low 
chair, she could scarcely see his face for the 
ponderous dictionaries that were piled about 
him. At her approach he looked up, placed 
two or three of the large volumes on the floor, 
glanced at his watch, and then said in an 
approving tone : 

“ You are punctual to the minute, Miss 


IN THE STUDY. 


291 


Honor. I am glad to see that you know the 
value of time ; those who save the minutes will 
find some day that they have saved something 
more precious than gold. But sit down. Take 
that low chair by that window — you will be in 
a good light there — and now tell me, do you 
know what I am doing? and what you are to 
help me do ? ” 

‘‘ Mrs. Pennock said you were writing a 
comprehensive work on English literature,” 
Honor said as she took the chair the professor 
had chosen for her, and wondered, a little fear- 
fully, if she would have to read from one of 
the large volumes before him. 

The professor smiled. ‘‘ Mrs. Pennock cer- 
tainly gave a comprehensive name to my work,” 
he said, ‘’^ts nature is not quite as universal 
as she represented. I have named my book 
‘ The- Bible in the Literature of the 19th Cen- 
tury,’ and I am tracing the influence of the 
sacred Word through the writings of the poets, 
essayists, historians, and novelists, who, in this 
present century, have enriched our minds 
and language with the creations of their 
genius.” 

“ And is it there ? ” Honor asked with quick 
interest. “ I mean,” she timidly explained, as 
the professor, interrupted in his thought, looked 
as if he did not understand her question, “ I 


292 UST ONE girl’s experience. 

mean can you find the Bible in the works of all 
the great authors?” 

“ Yes, I can find it in them,” the professor 
said with assurance. ‘‘ I find it in their moral- 
ity, that like' sweet water from a pure fountain 
flowed first from the Bible. I find it in their 
enthusiasm for humanity — an enthusiasm that 
was never known until the New Testament 
taught it — and I find it in those lofty ideals of 
character that all the best writers hold up for 
our admiration and emulation. The grand 
originals of all those ideals can be found in the 
Bible, but nowhere else.” 

‘‘ But,” Honor said thoughtfully, ‘‘ some of 
the most famous writers of this century have 
not been Christians, nor even believers ; you 
cannot find the Bible in their works, can you ? ” 

Honor’s question aroused and interested the 
professor. His eyes flashed, and his voice was 
earnest and positive as he answered : 

“Yes, I do find it in them, negatively if not 
always affirmatively. Some of those writers 
devoted their great mental powers to the one 
task of trying to destroy the world’s faith in 
the Bible ; and in doing that they have given 
us a wonderful proof of the strength of the 
Bible, for like a Gibraltar it has withstood all 
their attacks. They, have made, too, exhaust- 
ive studies of the life of Christ, only to own, 


IN THE STUDY. 


293 


like Pilate, that they saw no fault in him ; and 
from one of the Bible’s bitterest opponents this 
tribute has been drawn— ‘ Nor even now would 
it be easy, even for an unbeliever, to find a 
better translation for the rule of virtue, from 
the abstract into the concrete, than to endeavor 
so to live that Christ would approve our life. ’ 
There ” — and the professor’s hand fell impres- 
sively on the book before him — “ is not that 
strong testimony to the influence of the Bible ? ” 

Honor scarcely heard the professor’s question. 
Suddenly a high ideal had been raised before 
her, and the grandest purpose a human being 
could have seemed revealed to her — “ To en- 
deavor so to live that Christ could approve our 
life — ” She was still dwelling on these words 
when after a brief silence the professor spoke 
again. 

“ Are you well acquainted with the Bible, 
Miss Honor? ” he asked. 

“ I have never read it through,” Honor re- 
gretfully acknowledged. 

‘‘No? Well, I hardly supposed you had. 
There are many gold hunters in these days who 
do not know where to look for the true gold — 
but take an old man’s advice, my little girl, 
and from this day become a faithful and care- 
ful reader of the Bible. If you wish to be- 
come an adept in the English language, you 


294 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

will find that in purity, beauty, and simplicity 
of diction, the Bible excels all other books. 
If you wish to understand the illustrations and 
imagery you will meet constantly in our best 
writers, then, like those writers, you must study 
the Bible. You will never deserve to be con- 
sidered well-read, an ambition that most intel- 
ligent young people possess, until you know 
your Bible. And if in your daily life you de- 
sire, as a Christian, to exemplify the teach- 
ings and precepts of your heavenly Father, 
then you must follow the guide book he has 
given you ; you must study the Bible.” 

With a face as sweet as it was humble. 
Honor listened to the professor. 

‘‘ I never realized all that the Bible was be- 
fore,” she said with a child’s simple truthful- 
ness. “ I feel now that I have neglected it, 
but I never will again.” 

‘‘ I hope you will not,” Professor Montgom- 
ery answered kindly. ‘‘ I am an old man, 
and I have read many books, and from them all 
I have gleaned knowledge ; but the truest wis- 
dom, the most satisf^tory knowledge, that I 
possess, I have gained from the Bible. But 
now” — and the professor walked to one of his 
cases and selected a book — “I think we 
must have a little reading. Have you ever 
read Carlyle’s ‘ Heroes and Hero Worship ’ ? ” 


IN THE STUDY. 


295 


“ No,” Honor frankly confessed. 

“Then you will never have a better time 
than to-day. I want to make a few notes on 
that rugged old Scotchman, so, if you please, 
we will begin our winter's work with him.” 

That morning’s reading proved very delight- 
ful to Honor, and when the little French clock 
struck twelve, and the professor said kindly, 
“ School is dismissed,” Honor closed her book 
with a happy smile. 

“ Are you tired ? ” the professor asked as he 
watched her. 

“ Tired ? ” Honor repeated. “ Oh no, I feel 
like a traveller in a new world, I only want to 
go on.” 

Professor Montgomery’s smile denoted his 
satisfaction. “ My little girl,” he said, “ you 
and I will do good work together if we both 
live. But it must not be all work and no play. 
I shall not want you again until two o’clock — 
then we will try some old English poetry. Now 
find your little namesake, and go out for a walk 
in this bright sunshine.” 


CHAPTER XVIL 


OLD KECORDS WANTED. 

** The mystery of the untried days 
I close my eyes from reading : 

His will be done whose darkest ways 
To light and life are leading.’^ 


Whittier, 



ELL ? ” Mrs. Montgomery said inquir- 


ingly, that evening, when she and the 


professor were reviewing the experiences of 
the day, “you are satisfied then ? ” 

“ More than satisfied,” the professor replied. 
“She has a bright, active mind, and she is 
thoughtful and quick of comprehension. She 
is unaffected, too, and as frank as a child in 
confessing her ignorance ; but all her questions 
are intelligent, and she catches a suggestion, 
and — as Lowell would say — ‘snatches its es- 
sential grace of meaning out,’ in a way that is 
both interesting and stimulating to watch.” 

Mrs. Montgomery looked both pleased and 
relieved. “ You think then, that she really 
will be a help to you in your work ? ” she said. 
“ Yes, she will be a help to me — her young 


( 296 ) 


\ 


OLD RECORDS WAKTED. 


297 


mind will be something like a tonic to my old 
one — and I believe I can be a help to her. I 
do not intend to limit her reading to the books 
I want for my work. She is something like a 
jewel in the rough now, and I intend to spare 
no pains in polishing her. To do so will be 
only a pastime for me and it may prove a great 
benefit to her.” 

Instead of ‘ may,’ say ‘ will,’ ” Mrs. Mont- 
gomery answered ; while a little shadow that 
sometimes rested on her face gave place to a 
contented smile. 

It was, in truth, a great relief to Mrs. Mont- 
gomery to find her husband so thoroughly in- 
terested in Honor. He was a man who was 
always riding a hobby. His literary work, 
taken up so late in life, while it absorbed all 
his time, was never, as Mrs. Montgomery well 
knew, likely to amount to anything ; and she 
feared the effect his intense application to it 
might have on both his health and mind. Now 
if he became interested in educating Honor, 
she believed, since he never devoted himself to 
two things at once, that his writing would 
soon cease to be of paramount interest to him ; 
and that, in her opinion, was a consummation 
most earnestly to be desired. She was silent 
for a little while, but presently as she glanced 
at the professor and saw that his eyes were 


298 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

resting on his family tree — that engraved and 
handsomely framed hung over the mantel oppo- 
site his chair, she said : 

I do wonder, my dear, if this young girl 
does not belong to your family? It seems 
strange to me that she should be named Honor, 
and I do think her face resembles the portrait 
of your cousin Honor. Now just go and look 
at that picture, and see if you don’t detect the 
resemblance.” 

‘‘ Nonsense, my dear, all nonsense : a woman’s 
imagination is always running away with her,” 
the professor said wisely. But he left his chair 
as he spoke, lighted a wax candle that stood on 
the mantel, and walked to the portrait that 
hung opposite his writing table. 

He studied the portrait for some minutes 
and then extinguished his candle, and resumed 
his seat. 

‘^Well,” Mrs. Montgomery asked, “don’t 
you agree with me ? ” 

The professor shook his head. “ It is the 
great pleasure of my life to agree with you, my 
dear,” he said, with his old-fashioned courtli- 
ness of manner, “ but in this instance I find it 
impossible to do so. My cousin was a beauti- 
ful woman.” 

“ Most people who have seen Honor would 
think that that fact only made the resemblance 


OLD RECORDS WANTED. 


299 


more marked,” Mrs. Montgomery said, signifi- 
cantly. 

The professor thrust his fingers through his 
hair and looked seriously annoyed. “ My 
dear,” he said in a minute, “ what is the use 
of our considering impossibilities ? My family 
tree is complete. It is just as improbable that 
there are any omissions in it, as that I would 
omit a letter in repeating the alphabet. I like 
Miss Honor. I shall do everything in my 
power to help her ; but her family and mine are 
totally distinct ; that is as sure as that my tree 
is perfect.” 

Mrs. Montgomery was a wise woman. She 
was never anxious for the last word, and now, 
as she saw her husband’s annoyance, she quietly 
changed the subject. “ Have you heard from 
Judge Ketcham since we were at Pennock 
Manor?” she asked. 

‘‘ Why, yes,” the professor answered. “ I 
forgot to mention it, but I received a letter 
from him to-day.” 

“ Did you ? ” Mrs. Montgomery asked with 
interest. “ What does he say ? ” 

“Nothing of much importance. He says he 
may go to California for a few weeks.” 

“ Why,” Mrs. Montgomery said in a surprised 
voice, “ how can he go ? I thought that will 
case was to be settled this winter.” 


300 IN ONE giel’s expeeience. 

“ No ; he says there are some unexpected 
complications, and everything will have to rest 
for a while. By the way, he asks in a post- 
script, if I have seen or heard anything more of 
Miss Montgomery ? ” 

He seems strangely interested in her,” Mrs. 
Montgomery said, as she slowly rolled up her 
knitting. 

I would say interested, and omit strangely, 
my dear,” the professor observed. “Bright 
girls with their lives all before them, are in- 
teresting to everyone. By the way,” he con- 
tinued — repeating his favorite phrase — “ I think 
— don’t you — that Miss Honor’s influence over 
our little granddaughter will be a great benefit 
to the child ? ” 

Mrs. Montgomery nodded. “ I believe that 
young girl’s presence in our home will prove a 
benefit to us all,” she said gravely. And the 
belief she then expressed she never saw reason 
to change. 

Very pleasantly the days of that winter went 
by. Honor was well, interested, and happy. 
Every day the professor’s interest in her deep- 
ened, and kindly and carefully as if she had 
been his daughter he marked out a course of 
study for her, and guided her through it. 
Three hours of every day she spent in reading 
aloud to the professor, and that reading — em- 


OLD EECOKDS WANTED. 


301 


bracing as it did the best works of the finest 
minds — was of inestimable advantage to the girl. 

Mentally Honor improved rapidly that winter ; 
nor did she lack aids to growth in other direc- 
tions. Her first morning’s conversation with 
the professor had made a deep impression on 
her mind; and “to endeavor so to live that 
Christ might approve her life,” became more 
and more — as the days went by — the high ideal 
to which through many struggles and failures 
she constantly aspired. She had few tempta- 
tions now in her outward life. Professor and 
Mrs. Montgomery had no family save their 
little orphaned granddaughter ; and there was 
no one in her present home to vex and irritate 
her as Janet had done. 

But our temptations come from our hearts as 
well as from our circumstances and associates, 
and for a long time Honor could not think of 
Janet without a thrill of bitter feeling that was 
— and she well knew it — near akin to hatred. 

Perhaps the surest test of our love for others 
is our willingness to pray for them, and Honor 
was very reluctant to pray for Janet — she was 
conscious that she did not want the blessings 
she most desired for herself given also to Janet, 
and for a long time it seemed to her that she 
never knelt down to pray without some unwel- 
come thought of her old schoolmate intruding 


302 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

into her mind. For many weeks she tried to 
quiet her conscience by repeating hurriedly in 
her prayers, Dear Lord, make me willing to 
pray for Janet.” But that petition — that was 
never more than half sincere — brought her no 
comfort. At last there came a night of agony 
that Honor never forgot. 

The day preceding that night a letter from 
Mrs. Pennock, in which she mentioned that 
Janet seemed interested in her tasks and per- 
formed them well, had given Honor a curious 
pang of disappointment and unhappiness. She 
had not dared to acknowledge it even to her- 
self before; but now she knew that she had 
hoped that Janet would soon tire of her self- 
imposed duties, and disappoint and displease 
her aunt. 

With her mind full of unkind thoughts of 
Janet, Honor went to bed and fell asleep. 
Suddenly it seemed to her that she was dead. 
How the great change had come to her she 
could not tell ; but alone, with all the helps 
and hindrances of her earthly life removed, she 
found herself standing before the golden gate 
of the celestial city, and with hope’s glad im- 
patience she knocked for admission. Long she 
waited, but the golden gate remained unopened, 
and slowly but surely she began to understand 
that it would never open to any call from her. 


OLD KECOEDS WANTED. 303 

“Why, oh why, am I shut ouf ? ” she cried 
in anguish: and a sweet, sad voice seemed to 
answer, “ No heart that hates its brother man 
ever can enter here.” 

With a cry of terror Honor awoke. The 
relief, the wondrous comfort it was to find her- 
self still alive, no words can describe. Out 
from her soft nest of blankets she crept, and 
kneeling by her bedside in brokenness of 
heart she prayed : 

“ My Father in heaven do not let me die 
until I have learned to love Janet ; let me live 
until my heart is so full of love that there is 
no room in it for hate.” 

It was one of the trial hours in life that come 
to all God’s children, when standing face to 
face with their own souls they see themselves 
in all their sad unworthiness. Long Honor 
knelt that night praying for a love she could 
not make herself feel. But at last, when all 
her struggles seemed hopeless, and too weary 
and spent for words she could only draw long, 
sobbing breaths, help came. It seemed to come 
with the sudden memory and the childlike 
acceptance of the promise, “ All things, what- 
soever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall 
receive.” 

As like some sweet low strain those solemn 
words floated through Honor’s mind, her sobs 


304 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


and struggles* ceased. A great peace suddenly 
filled her heart ; prayer was no longer an effort, 
and her words were but the eager expression 
of a loving desire, as she murmured : 

‘‘ Dear Lord, bless Janet, make her a comfort 
to Mrs. Pennock, and a blessing to all her 
friends. Make her a Christian, and help her in 
all things to adorn her profession. Bless her, 
our Father, and help us both to be good and 
loving children of thine, for Jesus’ sake.” 

Honor’s first leisure the next day was spent 
in writing to Janet. It was but a little note 
but every word was sincere. 


Dear Janet — She wrote: — I have a confession to 
make to you. I have not loved you and I have not wished 
for your happiness and success this winter with Mrs. Pen- 
nock. I have not believed that you were my friend, and I 
have not been yours. But now, dear Janet — for I can truly 
call you dear now — all is changed. God has answered my 
prayers : — and Janet let me beg you never to doubt the 
power of prayer, for if it can take hatred out of my heart 
it can do anything. — I know that I am your friend now ; I 
know that I wish you good : so much good, Janet, that I 
want you to become a Christian. Won’t you study the 
New Testement, Janet? won’t you accept Christ as your 
teacher and your Saviour, and give yourself to him to be 
saved and trained for heaven? 

Please forgive and forget all that made you dislike me in 
the past, and try to love me a little now, because we are 
both God’s children, and his children must love one 
another. 


OLD RECORDS WANTED. 


305 


Good-bye, Janet ; through the rest of our life on earth, 
and through a long eternity in heaven, I pray that we 
may be friends. 

Yours with sincere love. 

Honor Thorn Montgomery. 

For several weeks Honor watched for an 
answer to her letter, and when one day an 
envelope addressed in Janet’s hand writing was 
brought to her, she received it with none but 
glad anticipations. She had judged Janet by 
her own changed feelings ; she had not thought 
it possible that she could remain cold and 
unforgiving ; and there was a bright and glad 
light in her eyes when she began to read. But 
the light and gladness soon faded, and Honor’s 
face grew sad and even pale as she read : 

“Your letter was received, sometime ago. Miss Mont- 
gomery, and I found your declaration of love extremely 
interesting ; but as I was not prepared to respond to it, I 
thought silence would be my best answer. I write now at 
aunt Esther’s request. She has been troubled with rheu- 
matism lately and her right arm is disabled so that she 
cannot write herself. 

The doctor advises a change for her, and she has decided 
to close Pennock Manor for a year, at least, and spend the 
time with my mother. Probably this coming summer we 
will go to Europe. 

“ Aunt Esther wishes me to say that you must no longer 
indulge any hopes of ever returning to her, and she trusts 
you will remain with your present employers and try to 
deserve their confidence.” 

20 


306 IN ONE gtel’s experience. 


“ I know Mrs. Pennock never sent me that 
message — ” Honor exclaimed indignantly, and 
for a few moments she let the letter rest in her 
lap, while she struggled for courage to finish it. 
Presently, with a great effort she took up the 
little white-winged messenger,” that had 
brought her so much pain, and forced herself to 
go on reading it. 

“ We heard from Mr. Royalston last night/ ^ Janet con- 
tinued. “His letter was written from Cairo : he expressed 
the hope that Professor Montgomery would be able to make 
you useful, and would find you an intelligent assistant. — ” 

Honor’s hand trembled for a moment and she 
shivered as if she had suddenly grown cold, but 
she read steadily on. 

Fortunately the bitter letter was not much 
longer — 

“ I believe I have now complied with Aunt Esther^s 
wishes, and said all she directed me to say about her 
plans,” Janet wrote in conclusion. “ For myself, I have 
only to say, that your offered friendship is an honor I have 
no desire either to accept or to reciprocate. With indiffer- 
ence I have written to you, and with indifference I sign my 
name. 

Janet Howaed.’^ 

It was a good proof of Honor’s changed feel- 
ings that that cutting letter aroused no resent- 
ment in her heart. Slowly she folded and laid 


OLD BECORDS WANTED. 


307 


it away, and with it she laid away the pleasant 
hope of ever returning to Pennock Manor. 
How long Professor Montgomery would want 
her services she could not tell ; God held the 
key to all her unknown future, and in the 
strength that glad faith gave her, she went on 
cheerfully with her pleasant work, and grew 
each day more invaluable to the professor. 

One day late in March Judge Ketcham sud- 
denly appeared in the professor’s study. With 
just a hasty word of greeting to Professor 
Montgomery he turned to Honor. 

“ Miss Montgomery,” he said, “ I have just 
been to Pennock Manor. I went there expressly 
to see you, but as I found my bird had flown I 
could only follow after and try to capture it.” 

“ I don’t understand,” Honor said in much 
embarrassment. 

“ No, I suppose not. There is a great deal to 
explain I fear before you will fully understand 
me. But, Miss Montgomery, I am very anxious 
now to find those old records, you remember we 
spoke of that day at Pennock Manor.” 

“ What old records? ” Professor Montgomery 
asked abruptly. 

“ Oh, some that Miss Montgomery thought 
she might possibly have in her possession,” the 
judge answered impatiently. “You remem- 
ber” — and he turned again to Honor — “that I 


808 IN ONE girl's experience. 

advised you to secure them as soon as possible. 
Have you done so ? " 

No,” Honor said, “ I did not suppose they 
were of any value, and — if there really are any 
— they are still stored with other things in 
Broadfields.” 

‘‘Then the sooner they are separated from 
those other things the better it will be for us 
all,” the judge said with decision. 

“ But I don’t understand,” Honor said again. 

Judge Ketcham frowned and then smiled. 
“My dear Miss Montgomery,” he said, “it is 
neither necessary nor desirable, just at present, 
that you should understand what I want of 
those old records. All I wish you to do is to 
produce them, if they are — as I devoutly hope 
— in existence ; and in the meantime you must 
try to believe that in all I do, or ask you to do, 
I am anxious only to promote your interests.” 

Honor still looked puzzled, but the professor’s 
face was a study. 

“ Really, Judge Ketcham,” he said sharply, 
“ this proceeding of yours is most extraordinary. 
I consider myself, in a certain sense. Miss Mont- 
gomery’s guardian, and now I must request you 
to explain to me — if not to her — what you 
mean.” 

“ All in good time. Professor,” J udge Ketcham 
said cheerfully. “ When I have a little more 


OLD RECOEDS WANTED. 


309 


leisure I will give you all the explanations you 
desire ; but now” — and the judge looked at his 
watch — “ it is necessary for me to act ; and if 
Miss Montgomery will hurry I think we can 
catch the next train for New York, and by to- 
morrow we can be in Broadfields and secure 
those records.” 

‘‘Catch the next train,” exclaimed Mrs. Mont- 
gomery. “Judge Ketcham, what do you 
mean ? ” 

“ To act and not to talk, my dear madam,” 
the judge answered promptly. “ It is necessary 
for this young lady to go to Broadfields and 
examine her possessions there; for if those 
records are in existence I suppose they are there, 
and if they are in existence I must have them. 
Now, Mrs. Montgomery, will you trust Miss 
Honor to me? I will promise to return her to 
you in safety.” 

“Yes,” Mrs. Montgomery said in a sober 
voice, “ I will trust her to you ; but before I do 
so I would like to understand you.” 

Judge Ketcham looked impatient. “While 
we are talking the time is flying,” he said. 
“ Miss Honor, please go and prepare for your 
journey, and in your absence I will try to con- 
vince your good friends here that there is, at 
least, some method in my madness.” 

With a good deal of reluctance Honor obeyed 


310 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

the judge. When she returned to the study she 
noticed, with much surprise, that the professor’s 
precious family tree lay on the table, and that 
he and Mrs. Montgomery were looking at it 
with very serious faces, while Judge Ketcham 
was talking earnestly. 

‘‘ Here is where it ought to be, you see,” the 
judge was saying as Honor entered the room, 
and as he spoke he placed his pencil on a cer- 
tain spot in the tree. “ Ah,” he exclaimed in 
a lighter tone, as he glanced up and saw Honor, 
“Miss Montgomery, you are almost equal to 
Puck — wasn’t it he who could put a girdle 
round-about the earth in forty minutes? You 
have been most expeditious, and now, if you 
are ready, I am, and the carriage is at the 
door.” 

“But your lunch?” Mrs. Montgomery said 
anxiously. 

“ Lunch ? ” the judge repeated. “ My dear 
Mrs. Montgomery, eating is of secondary im- 
portance just now ; but there will be plenty of 
‘pies an’ cake’ on the cars,” he added laugh- 
ingly, “ and I promise you I will not let Miss 
Honor starve. “ Come,” he said hurriedly to 
Honor ; but Professor Montgomery detained her. 

“ My dear Miss Honor,” he said solemnly, “I 
want you to believe that while I value my 
tree I value truth and justice more. Now go 


OLD EECOKDS WANTED. 


311 


with the Judge, my child, and may your search 
for those old records prove successful.” 

Years afterward when Honor tried to recall 
the events of that strange journey all seemed 
as vague and indistinct as the pictures seen in 
dreams. There were confused recollections of 
the rush and whir of the cars through a long 
dark night, but nothing seemed real to her, 
either in the retrospect or at the time, until just 
at noon the next day she stood on the platform 
of the familiar Broadfields station, and saw on 
every side the well-remembered scenes in which 
her childhood and early girlhood had been 
passed. 

Judge Ketcham had cared kindly for her 
comfort through her long journey; but he had 
given her no explanations, and had in fact rather 
avoided conversing with her; but as soon as 
they reached Broadfields he was as active and 
energetic as he had been in the professor’s 
study. 

“ Now, Miss Honor,” he said briskly, ‘‘if you 
know where your things are stored it will be 
best for us to go immediately there. I suppose 
you know the way ; ” and he looked doubtfully 
at Honor, who stood looking about her with 
dreaming and bewildered eyes. 

His words recalled Honor to the present and 
its strange errand. The few things that 


312 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

had been saved for her, from the wreck of her 
father’s possessions, had been stored in the 
roomy garret of a kind neighbor’s house, and 
to that neighbor’s she at once led the judge. 

There were many exclamations of astonish- 
ment when Honor appeared before her old 
friends, and there was much curiosity mani- 
fested as to her errand ; but Judge Ketcham 
allowed her to waste no time in hearing and 
answering questions. 

“We must find those papers first,” he re- 
minded her, “and, by the way,” he asked, prac- 
tically ; “ are your things locked or nailed up ? ” 

“ They are nailed up in boxes,” Honor an- 
swered. 

“ Then we will need a hammer,” the judge 
said quickly, and borrowing one from the owner 
of the house he followed Honor to the garret. 
Several boxes marked with her name were piled 
in one corner. 

“ Now, Miss Honor, which one shall I open ? ” 
the judge asked promptly. 

Honor hesitated. Miss Clark had packed the 
boxes and Honor knew little more than the 
judge himself about their contents. She could 
give no directions, and saying wisely: “We 
have no time to waste in guessing riddles,” the 
judge knocked up the cover of the first box. 

It was filled with old china. Down went 


OLD RECORDS WANTED. 


313 


that cover, and off went another. The second 
box was packed with bedding. 

‘‘ If you only wanted to go to housekeeping, 
Miss Honor, there might be some satisfaction 
in opening all these boxes,” the judge said in a 
vexed voice as he struck his hammer on the 
third box. That proved to contain books. 

“ Ah, this looks as if, like Columbus, we were 
nearingland,” the judge exclaimed, as Honor 
drew out her father’s green baize covered family 
Bible. “Is there nothing more there?” he 
asked in a disappointed voice, as after a few 
minutes spent in examining the books Honor 
began to replace them. 

“ Nothing that we want,” Honor exclaimed. 
“ Somewhere there is a brown linen wallet full 
of papers. I don’t know what they are, but if 
there really are any such records as you want, I 
think they must be in that wallet.” 

“ Of course,” the judge said as he turned to 
find the fourth box. It was also the smallest 
and the last. Its contents were very miscel- 
laneous, consisting mainly of little things that 
Miss Clark must have saved more for the sake 
of old associations, than for any real value that 
they possessed. One useless little article after 
another Honor drew out while the judge looked 
grimly on, but at last she found the linen 
wallet. 


314 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“ Ah, now I hope we have them,^’ the judge 
said in a satisfied voice. Open the wallet, 
Miss Honor, and let us see what’s in it.” 

With nervous and trembling fingers Honor 
untied the tapes that fastened the wallet. 
Several old, time-yellowed papers were pre- 
served in it, but as the judge examined them 
his face darkened. 

There was an old will, but it bore the name 
of her mother’s father ; there were several old 
deeds, but they also belonged to her mother’s 
family. There was not a paper that referred to 
her father or her father’s family. 

Slowly the judge looked them over, and then 
with a grave face he gave them back to Honor. 

‘‘ They are not what I want,” he said soberly. 
“ Have you nothing else? ” 

“ Nothing but this,” Honor answered, as she 
took up the old Bible. 

“ What is that ? ” the judge asked sharply. 

Ah, I see,” he said — answering his own ques- 
tion before Honor could speak — “a family 
Bible. Why, this may tell the whole story. 
Let me look at it.” 

With quick and impatient hands the judge 
took the book from Honor, and turned ea- 
gerly to the family register. Quickly he read 
it and once more the shadow deepened on his 
face. The Bible had belonged to Honor’s 


OLD RECORDS WANTED. 


315 


mother’s family. There was but one brief 
record in it that concerned her father, and that 
was the date of his marriage to her mother. 

“ ‘ Rufus Thorn Montgomery married to 
Elizabeth Winslow, June 15th 185-,’ ” the judge 
read gravely. “ Well,” he said as he closed the 
book, ‘‘ that doesn’t tell much, and yet Rufus 
and Thorn are old family names. Is there any- 
thing more. Miss Honor, that may serve to illu- 
minate this dark subject?” 

No, there was nothing more, and Honor was 
tired and nervous ; opening her boxes had been 
a painful task, and her utter ignorance of the 
judge’s motives only added to her excitement. 
Now as she understood from his disappointed 
manner that their search had failed, she looked 
up. into his face with trembling lips and tear- 
dimmed eyes : 

“ Won’t you tell me one thing,” she pleaded, 
“is there anything very dreadful connected 
with those missing papers ? ” 

The judge smiled kindly as he saw her dis- 
tress. “ No,” he said in a voice that was more 
comforting than his words, “ there is nothing 
more dreadful than this — that I must telegraph 
and postpone some important business that 
ought to be settled to-morrow. By the way,” 
the judge asked in an indifferent tone as he 
nailed down the last cover, “ do you know any- 


316 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

thing of your father’s history, Miss Honor ? did 
he ever tell you any stories of his childhood?” 

“ No, I think not,” Honor said sadly. 

The judge gave the box he was nailing up 
an unnecessary and energetic knock. ‘‘ There, 
that is done,” he said in a satisfied voice. “ I 
suppose. Miss Honor,” he said a few minutes 
later, as they were leaving the garret, “ that 
there are old men in Broadfields who knew 
your father, aren’t there ? ” 

“Everybody knew and liked my father,” 
Honor said in a tone that was at once proud 
and tender. 

“ So I supposed,” the judge said cheerfully. 
“Well, Miss Honor, we have two long hours 
to while away before train time, and I think I 
will leave you in the care of your friends here, 
and take a short walk about the village. I am 
a born explorer, I believe ; new places always 
fascinate me, and now, since we couldn’t find 
those records I am going to try to stumble into 
a mine of gold — or of information,” he added, 
in a tone too low for Honor to understand. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


SECURING TESTIMONY. 

“ My duty for the day is plain — 

To go where God shall oall, 

And patient hold the tangled skein 
Until he unravels all.” 

— Anon. 

OLOWLY, with his hands clasped behind him, 
^ his head thrown back, and his eyes keenly 
observant of every passing object. Judge Ket- 
cham walked through the main street of the little 
village. It was a mild and sunny day such as 
often comes 

“ When March just ready to depart 
Begins to soften into April.” 

Presently in his walk, the judge came to an 
old house that with its weather-stained shingles, 
and low sloping roof looked as if it might have 
survived the Revolution. It stood near the 
road, and on a bench, just outside the door in 
the bright sunshine, an old man sat whittling. 
One sharp glance the judge gave him, and then 
he deliberately stopped before him. 

“ Good-morning,” he said. 

( 317 ) 


318 IN ONE giel’s experience. 

Morning, sir,” answered the old man, while 
his still bright eyes looked up shrewdly at the 
judge. “ You be a stranger in these parts, I 
calc’late,” he said slowly. 

“ Yes, this is my first visit to Broadfields,” 
the judge replied. And then, skillfully divin- 
ing where flattery would be most acceptable, 
he remarked : It is a very pretty place.” 

‘‘Well, yes, that is what everybody says; 
but to my mind it ain’t half as pleasant as it 
used to be in the good *old times that I can re- 
member.” 

The judge nodded. ‘‘ I’ve heard that said of 
a good many places,” he observed. “ But what 
made the old times better. Uncle ? ” 

The old man gave a pleased laugh. “So 
you’ve found out my name,” he said in a satis- 
fied voice. “ It’s cur’ous how everybody knows 
me. I b’lieve I’m Uncle John to every man, 
woman and child in the country. And that’s 
just as it should be, I think. God meant us all 
to be relations when he put us on this earth. 
Don’t you b’lieve that ? ” 

“I am glad you are willing that I should 
claim relation to you. Uncle,” the judge an- 
swered smilingly, “ but you haven’t told me 
why the old times were better than these 
modern days ? ” 

Uncle John had stopped whittling ; but he 


SEGUEING TESTIMONY. 


319 


held his knife in one hand and worked its blade 
back and forth with the other, while he said 
slowly; “Well, for one reason. Mister, every- 
body knew everybody else in those days, and 
everybody was friendly. Now it’s with the 
people just as it is with their houses. You 
never get in further than their parlors, an’ 
there ain’t half as much real help, and charity, 
and soc’bleness in the world as there used to 
be.” 

“ I dare say you are right. Uncle,” the judge 
said, encouragingly. “ Have you always lived 
in Broadfields?” 

“ Yes, always, I was born and married 
here.” 

“And I suppose you know all about the 
people who have been your neighbors here in 
Broadfields ? ” 

Uncle John chuckled. “There ain’t much 
about any of ’em that I don’t know,” he said 
proudly. 

“There was a family named Montgomery 
living here a few years ago, wasn’t there ? ” 

“Montgomery! Well, now. Mister, it is 
cur’ous that you should speak of him. You 
see, I was always more interested in him than 
I was in any of my other neighbors just because 
there was something about him that I couldn’t 
find out.” 


320 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

The judge looked like one who had at last 
found the lost end in a tangled skein. “I am 
always interested in stories about people,” he 
said, “and I wish you would tell me what 
you did and did not know about Mr. Mont- 
gomery.” 

“You didn’t know him, did you?” the old 
man asked suspiciously. 

“ I never saw him.” 

“ Well — won’t you sit down. Mister ? ” — and 
Uncle John made room on his long bench for 
the judge — “He’s dead an’ gone now, an’ his 
daughter’s moved away, an’ so it can’t hurt no- 
body if I do tell you the story. You see when 
he was living he never could bear to have it 
spoken of, for family is thought a great deal of 
in these parts, and if Montgomery didn’t have 
no family to boast of, he’d pride enough to have 
supplied a dozen.” 

Judge Ketchm’s eyes flashed, but he did not 
speak i and in the slow, garrulous way, peculiar 
to the very old. Uncle John went on with his 
story. 

“ Let me see, it must be goin’ on fifty years 
now, least ways it’s between forty and fifty 
years ago, when I was was quite a young man, 
just gettin’ to be middle-aged, that there was a 
great fire down in New York. You’ve been 
there often, I s’pose ? ” and Uncle John stop- 


SEGUEING TESTIMONY. 


321 


ped in his story and looked sharply at the 
judge. 

“ In New York ? Yes, I live there.” 

‘‘ That’s what I supposed. I geii'rally can 
tell a city man when I see him. Well, you see, 
that fire made a great stir among us quiet folks ; 
an’ one of my neighbors. Deacon Winslow, 
went down almos’ a purpose to see the ruins. 
It always looked to me just as if Providence 
sent him, but the deacon wasn’t conscious of 
being sent ; he just went ’cause he felt cur’ous 
like to see what a fire could do when it did its 
worst. Well, he was walking about the ruins 
when a little boy came up an’ spoke to him. 
He was a pretty little boy : the deacon was a 
pretty good judge — like most of us folks about 
here — of blood and family, and he always said, 
he knew as soon as he looked at him that that 
boy weren’t no common child. The boy was 
crying, and he looked cold and hungry. He 
said his name was Rufus Montgomery and that 
was all he ever told about himself. He didn’t 
beg of the deacon — little fellow though he was, 
he seemed too proud to do that — but he said 
he wanted work, and he asked the deacon, if he 
wouldn’t give him something to do ? 

“ He was such a little fellow that it seemed 
just about as sensible to expect him to work as 
to expect a pony to plough ; but the deacon was 
21 


322 


IN ONE GIEL’s EXPEEIENCE. 


a good an’ kind hearted man, and he said he 
couldn’t leave the boy to starve or go to ruin in 
that wicked city, so he brought him home with 
him. Well, Mister, that boy made just about 
one of the best an’ smartest men that was ever 
raised in Broadfields. He married the deacon’s 
only child — you see it was just like a story in a 
book — he was justice of peace here for a while, 
an’ he seemed to know how to do everything — 
’cept to save money. His wife died when they 
had only been married a few years, an’ then he 
seemed just to live for his daughter. He was 
drefful sot on educating her ; he spent most 
money enough on her to buy a good farm, an’ 
yet when he died he didn’t leave her a dollar. 
Strange now’, wasn’t it ? ” and for a moment, in 
his anxiety to hear the judge’s answer, the old 
man forgot to snap his knife. 

Judge Ketcham had listened with almost 
breathless interest, and now, instead of answer- 
ing Uncle John, he asked quickly. ‘‘Is that all 
that ever was known about him ? Did he never 
tell any more about himself?” 

‘‘No,” Uncle John said with a sigh, “and 
that’s why I w^as always so interested in him. I 
always felt just as if I was readin’ the middle 
of a story, an’ I did feel dreflFul cur’ous to know 
the beginnin’ an' the end. But he’s dead an’ 
gone,” the old man added plaintively, “ an’ I 


SECURING TESTIMONY. 


323 


don’t suppose it matters much now what his 
story was.” 

‘‘It matters to the living,” Judge Ketcham 
said in a voice that made Uncle John turn his 
shrewd eyes on him in surprise. “ You seem to 
care a good deal about that story, Mister,” he 
said. 

The judge laughed carelessly. “ Yes,” he 
answered, “ mysteries always interest me. Do 
you suppose,” he asked in a moment, “ that 
Mr. Montgomery ever told any one about his 
early life ? — what he could remember, you 
know.” 

Uncle John shook his gray head. “ I never 
heard that he did : he was proud, and never 
said much about himself to any one. But — ” 
and the sudden thought made the old man’s 
voice quick and earnest — “I do suppose that if 
anybody knew more about him it was his house- 
keeper.” 

“ And who was she ? ” 

“ As good a woman as ever lived. Melinda 
Clark.” 

Judge Ketcham rose hurriedly. “Where is 
she ? ” he asked. 

Uncle John laughed. “You might just as 
well sit still. Mister,” he said: “you won’t 
find her to-day. She’s moved away out West.” 

“ Do you know to what place ? ” 


324 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

‘‘ No ; I did hear, but I’ve forgot.” 

Judge Ketcham looked as if he had been 
playing a game of chess and had been unex- 
pectedly checkmated. 

“Well, Uncle,” he said, “ it is time for me to 
go, but I am much obliged to you for your 
story, and I shall not forget it.” 

‘^Miss Honor,” the judge said an hour later, 
while they were rushing toward the city as fast 
as the limited express could carry them, 
“where does your old housekeeper live? ” 

Honor had ceased to be surprised at any of 
Judge Ketcham’s questions. “In Prairietown, 
Illinois,” she said in a weary tone. 

The judge took a little paper from his pocket. 
It was a map and time-table of one of the great 
western railroads. He studied it for a few 
moments and then said soberly ; “Prairietown 
is not far from Chicago, and in these days of 
rapid travelling we can go there in thirty-six 
hours. Miss Honor, I think we had better take 
that journey.” 

Honor was fairly aroused now. “ Go to 
Prairietown to see Miss Clark!” slie exclaimed. 
“ Why, Judge Ketcham ? ” 

The judge smiled. “ I cannot tell you all the 
whys, yet,” he said cheerfully, “but I have 
already told you that I have some important 
business on hand that must be settled as soon 


SECURING TESTIMONY. 


325 


as possible. A few months ago I saw nothing 
to prevent its speedy settlement. Then some- 
thing was suggested to me that complicated 
matters very much. There is now a certain 
question that I feel ought to be positively 
answered, and for some time I have been trying 
to answer it. I am pretty well convinced, in 
my own mind ; but I cannot take a supposi- 
tion into the court-room, and expect with it to 
overturn all the opinions and decisions of my 
brother lawyers. I must have positive proof. 
I fancied — it was perhaps a foolish fancy — that 
among your father’s old papers I might find 
something that would be of assistance to me. 
Being disappointed there, I now think that I 
may possibly obtain some information from 
your old housekeeper, and therefore I propose 
now that we go to her.” 

Honor looked tired and despondent. Why, 
can’t you telegraph ? ” she asked. 

“ A telegram would only confuse her, and 
even a letter would bewilder her, and be hard 
for her to understand. Besides, time is very 
precious. That case must be settled ; the op- 
posing party will not consent to many more 
adjournments. I have only asked as a last 
concession — for a week’s delay — and one hour 
with Miss Clark would probably accomplish 
more than a long correspondence. It is a clear 


826 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


case, Miss Honor, we must go to Prairietown. 
I will telegraph to the professor, we will pick 
up my niece, Fanny Hudson, in the city, and 
take her with us to Chicago, and at eight 
o’clock this evening we will take the express 
train for Prairietown.” 

Honor felt as if she were entangled in a net 
from which she could not free herself. She 
could not oppose Judge Ketcham, and neither 
could she understand him. She was too con- 
fused and troubled to feel any pleasure even at 
the prospect of seeing Miss Clai^k, and through 
all her long journey she looked and moved 
like one in a. dream. It was near sunset of the 
second day, that the light wagon, the judge 
had obtained at the Prairietown station, stop- 
ped before a comfortable looking farm-house. 

“ This is the widow Barlow’s, sir,” said their 
driver, and with a sigh of relief Honor stepped 
from the wagon on to the little horseblock. 

Curious eyes had been watching from the 
window ; and as Honor turned her face toward 
the house, the door opened, as if touched by a 
cyclone, and the next moment Miss Clark was 
by her side. 

“ Honor, why Honor,” she exclaimed,^ what 
does this mean? I’m glad to see you. I’m 
amazin’ glad to see you. Come right into the 
house. I am glad to see you,” Miss Clark 


SEGUEING TESTIMONY. 


327 


repeated, when a few moments later Honor was 
seated in the chintz-cushioned rocker that had 
stood for years in the neat kitchen at Broadfields. 
“ I am glad to see you” — and as she spoke she 
tenderly removed Honor’s hat — ‘‘but” — and 
her voice grew very anxious — “ what does it 
mean, Honor ? ” 

“Nothing that need cause you any anxiety, 
Miss Clark,” Judge Ketcham said, with the 
calmness of an old acquaintance. “ I am Miss 
Honor’s friend, and I have brought her to see 
you on very important business.” 

Miss Clark turned her troubled eyes from 
Honor, and gave the judge a keen glance. 
Something that she read in his face seemed to 
satisfy her, for her own face brightened, and in 
the brisk way that Honor .so well remembered, 
she said : “ I guess the most important business 
just now is to give her a cup of tea. And in 
a short time the cup of tea, with all the little 
accessories needed to make a tempting supper, 
was ready for the travelers. 

When an hour or two later all traces of the 
supper had been removed, and Miss Clark sat 
in her rocker feasting her eyes on Honor, who 
was resting on the lounge. Judge Ketcham took, 
out his note-book and said seriously : 

“ Miss Clark, if you are at leisure now, may 
I ask you a few questions ? ” 


328 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“ Certainly,” Miss Clark replied with dignity, 
“I never have been afraid to be questioned, 
and I never expect to be.” 

“These questions concern others more than 
they do you,” Judge Ketcham explained; and 
then he asked, “During the long years that you 
lived with Miss Honor’s father, did he ever tell 
you anything about his history ? ” 

Miss Clark looked anxiously at Honor. “I 
ain’t never been one to care much about the 
past,” she said soberly. “I always believe in 
looking forward to the future.” 

“But sometimes our future depends upon 
our knowledge of the past,” the judge answered. 
“And now. Miss Clark, I wish you to under- 
stand that very important issues depend upon 
my obtaining from you all the information it is 
in your power to give me.” 

Miss Clark did not reply. With the im- 
patient remark, “ It is very warm,” she arose 
and going to the cylinder coal stove, opened the 
door. Then she found her knitting work, and 
resuming her seat turned hastily to Honor. 

“ You ain’t asked nothing about the boy you 
sent me,” she said. 

“I have not forgotten him though,” Honor 
answered. “Do you like him? ” 

“ Better an’ better. At first he was a good 
deal like our new clock, it was pretty hard 


SECURING TESTIMONY. 


329 


work to get him regulated so that he’d run 
right, but now I’m pretty well satisfied with 
him.” 

During this little digression, that the judge 
suspected Miss Clark had made purposely, he 
looked very far from satisfied. 

‘‘Miss Clark,” he said sternly, “ I beg you to 
give me your attention for a little while. You 
remember I told you our business was im- 
portant.” 

Miss Clark laid down her knitting, folded 
her arms, and looked at the judge. 

“ I am ready to hear whatever you have to 
say, sir,” she said with much politeness ; “ but 
if — for reasons that I think good — I don’t want 
to speak, I shall just remain silent.” 

“ Very well,” the judge said in a conciliatory 
voice. “ Perhaps, after you have heard my 
story, you will want to speak. Now, in order 
to have you clearly understand what I want, 
and why I want it” — he proceeded slowly — 
“ I must tell you that I am at present interested 
in the settlement of a large estate. A few 
years ago the owner of this estate, an old man, 
died. His wife and children had died before 
him, and he had no near heirs — that he knew 
of.” 

The judge emphasized the last words ; paused 
and looked at Miss Clark a moment, and then 


330 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


went gravely on : In his will he gave his 
property to distant relatives ; but in a codicil, 
made a few days before his death, he gave two 
peculiar orders. He ordered : first, that his 
property should remain undivided for five years ; 
and in those years he desired his executor to 
make every effort to find any and all persons 
who might legally be entitled to a share in the 
estate, and he further ordered, that if a near 
and direct heir was found, the property, with 
the exception of a few unimportant legacies, 
should be given without restrictions to that 
heir. You understand the conditions?” the 
judge said, as he saw the sudden flash in Miss 
Clark’s shrewd eyes. 

She nodded. Go on,” she said imperatively. 

The judge suppressed a smile. “ Unfortu- 
nately I cannot go much farther,” he said. 
“ Every effort ” — he continued to explain — “ has 
been made to comply with the requirements of 
that will. A family tree ” — and he glanced at 
Honor who was listening with painful inter- 
est — ‘‘has been made and declared perfect. 
But no near heir has been found. A few months 
ago the five years expired, and then the dis- 
tant relatives who expect to inherit the estate 
demanded a settlement. But just then my at- 
tention was attracted by a rather singular cir- 
cumstance. It was only a trifle, perhaps, but 


SECURING TESTIMONY. 


331 


there is something in my nature that would 
have made me a good detective, I believe ; and 
a detective you know never overlooks trifles. 
I was so impressed. by that circumstance that 
being the executor of the will I took pains to 
have its settlement postponed ; and lately I 
have been making every exertion to explain 
that circumstance.” 

‘‘Well,” Miss Clark asked earnestly, “can 
you explain it ? ” 

“ Satisfactorily to myself, but I am not yet 
able to give clear explanations to others. I be- 
lieve ” — and the judge looked sharply at Miss 
Clark — “that when my old friend wrote his 
codicil he feared or hoped — whichever you 
please — that somewhere in the world there was 
a person whose interests ought to be his first 
consideration.” 

“ But you ain’t found that person ? ” Miss 
Clark said quickly. 

“ Unfortunately no, but in Broadfields I met 
old Uncle John — ^you know him? ” 

“Yes,” Miss Clark breathed rather than 
said. “Well, he told me a little story about 
Miss Honor’s father, that seemed to me closely 
allied to the facts I am in search of. Now, Miss 
Clark — and once more the judge’s keen glance 
gave emphasis to his words — “ I believe you 
understand me. I am sure you see the import- 


332 IN ONE gibl’s experience. 

ance of giving me all the assistance in your 
power ; and if you can, I wish you to give me 
the first chapter of Uncle John's stor3^ That 
story began with a friendless boy ; I want to 
know who that boy was, and where he came 
from?” 

Miss Clark drew a long breath. ‘‘ I wish I 
could tell you,” she said, “ but I only know 
what his wife told me in her last sickness.” 

“ Tell me that, then,” the judge ordered. 

It weren’t much,” Miss Clark said in a 
preparatory manner, “ but you see Rufus was 
a puzzle to everybody. He was good, and uni- 
versally respected ; but he seemed to belong to 
no family ; he had no relations, and he was no 
more confidential about himself than an oyster, 
and in some strange way every bod^^ felt sure 
that he had kept back more than he had ever 
told about himself. 

“Well, one night, just before his wife died, 
when I was watching with her, we got to talk- 
ing about him, and then she told me, in a proud 
kind of way, that he belonged to a better family 
than any in Broadfields. She said his mother 
died when he was a very little boy ; he had no 
brothers and sisters, and his father used to 
drink, and never seemed to care much for him. 
Th e poor little fellow was dreadful lonely and un- 
happy, and when his father married again, and 


SECUKING TESTBIONY. 


333 


his step-mother began to Scold and punish him, 
he made up his mind — ^just like a foolish and 
ignorant boy you know— that he wouldn’t stand 
it, and so he ran away from home. He got to 
New York just at the time of the great fire, 
that happened some time in the thirties, you 
know, sir.” 

‘‘ Yes,-in 1835,’^ the judge said hurriedly. 

‘‘Well, Rufus had a few pennies — ’bout 
enough to pay for a night’s lodging — and he got 
took in by some poor people, and that very 
night the fire came and the house he was sleep- 
ing in was burned. 

“ He was so frightened then, that I b’lieve he 
would have gone home, if he hadn’t been so 
terribly afraid of being punished. But as it 
was he didn’t dare to go back, and he didn’t 
know what to do ; and one day when he saw 
a kind-looking man walking about the ruins he 
just went up to him, and asked him to help 
him. 

“ That was our good old Deacon Winslow, 
and I suppose there ain’t no need of my going 
on, for Uncle John told you the rest.” 

“Yes,” Judge Ketcham said, “and your 
story and his agree perfectly. But as he grew 
older did Rufus Montgomery never make any 
effort to communicate with his family ? ” 

“No,” Miss Clark answered, “and that is 


334 m ONE girl’s experience. 

just where I think he did wrong. I think he 
ought to have considered the interests of the 
living” — and she glanced at Honor — ‘‘but you 
see he was proud, and it is just the hardest 
thing in the world for a proud person to say I 
am sorry. Then you remember his own mother 
was dead, and, of course, his family soon be- 
lieved that he was dead, too ; and if he had 
gone back to them likely as not he wouldn’t 
have been welcome. I dare say he often 
thought that he’d do something to prove his 
parentage, but when you drop a stitch at the 
beginning of your stocking it’s hard work, 
when you are almost ready to “ toe off ” to go 
back and pick it up. And so Rufus lived and 
died and his family never knew nothing about 
him.” 

Long before Miss Clark’s story was ended. 
Honor’s face was hidden in the pillow of the 
lounge ; but though Miss Clark laid her hand 
tenderly on her head, she made no attempt to 
comfort her. 

The judge had conquered all her prejudices, 
and her one great desire now was to help him 
in his search; for with her keen mind she had 
comprehended much that he had left unsaid. 

“You will be a valuable witness. Miss Clark,” 
Judge Ketcham said approvingly. “But” — 
and once more his voice grew anxious — “ did 


SEGUEING TESTIMONY. 


335 


Mr. Montgomery leave no records — no writings 
of any kind — by which his identity could be 
established ? ” 

Miss Clark looked for a minute as if she 
were considering the pros and cons of some 
serious question, and then without speaking 
she arose and left the room. When she re- 
turned she held an envelope in her hand. The 
judge watched her in evident anxiety and im- 
patience, but Miss Clark’s movements were as 
deliberate as usual, and her voice was slow and 
even solemn as she said : ‘‘ Honor, the night 

your father died, when he was first took sick — 
before the doctor had come, and I’d called you 
— he said in his quiet way — ^just as if he was 
talking of taking a journey — that he did not 
think he should get well, and if he didn’t he 
said I would find a letter in his desk — and he 
made me go and get it then — that he wanted 
me to keep until the time came for you to read 
it. Of course. Honor, I couldn’t refuse him 
nothing then, so I promised to keep the letter 
and here it is.” 

'‘I want you to read the direction,” Miss 
Clark said firmly, as she laid the letter in 
Honor’s lap. 

Honor’s eyes were dim with tears ; and too 
impatient to wait Judge Ketcham took up the 
letter and read aloud : 


336 


IN ONE GIEIi’s EXPEEIENCE. 


“ ‘ For my Daughter, Honor Thorn Montgomery. 

“ ^ To be read by her after she is engaged and before she is 
married.’ ” 

“Yes,” Miss Clark said, as the judge laid 
down the letter and looked at her, ‘Hhat is 
what I wanted you to read. You see. Honor 
ain’t engaged, and so I don’t know as the time 
has come yet for her to read that letter. But 
then again, it ain’t never, in my opinion, very 
safe to count on a girl’s marrying. She is sure 
to die, and that is the only thing that is sure 
about her. And so if you think ” — and Miss 
Clark looked with great deference at the judge 
— “ that it would be right for Honor to disre- 
gard her father’s orders and read that letter 
now, why, as you are a lawyer, I believe it will 
be safe for her to obey you.” 

“Yes, it will be safe,” Judge Ketcham said 
with decision. “ Miss Honor, read your let- 
ter.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


IN THE FAMILY TREE. 

** More and more a Providence 
Of love is understood, 

Making the springs of time and sense 
Sweet with eternal good.” 

— Whittier, 

^ENDERLY, as if her letter were instinct 
with life, Honor took it up ; with trem- 
bling hands she opened it, but as she read the 
first words her eyes filled. “ Oh, I cannot 
read it,” she sobbed. 

Judge Ketcham hesitated ; the letter seemed 
a sacred thing to him ; but he was anxious to 
know its contents, and gently saying : Let me 
look at it. Miss Honor,” he took it from her, 
and in a low voice read : 

My Precious Child : — Many times, in by-gone years, 
you have climbed upon my knee and pleaded for a story. 
To-night — prompted by an impulse I do not think it wise 
to resist — I am going to write you a story — the story of 
my childhood. I have never told you anything about my 
early life, but when you read this letter the time will have 
come for you to know its every fact. 

I was born in the town of Richmond, in the State of New 
York, on the fourteenth of April, 1826. 

22 


( 337 ) 


338 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


‘‘ Ah,” the judge exclaimed in a satisfied 
tone, but his hearers remained silent and he 
read on. 

My father^s name was Rufus Thorn Montgomery. I do 
not remember my mother. She died when I was very young. 
If she had lived, my life would have been a brighter one ; 
but God knows when it is best to take his children home, 
and I would not complain. My father’s mother’s name was 
Honor — it was in memory of her, my little girl, that I 
named you Honor, for she was always kind to me, and 
when she died all the sunshine went out of my young life. 

I was an only child, and my father was a cold, stern man ; 
he may have loved me, but he was that sad thing in a 
young child’s life, an undemonstrative parent. Soon after 
my grandmother’s death he married his second wife. I 
have lived long enough to lose all the prejudices I may 
once have cherished against step-mothers. I know that 
they are often true, unselfish, and loving, as the own 
mothers whose places — in God’s providence — they are called 
to fill ; but I have no bright recollections of my step- 
mother. She was harsh and severe ; she did not love me, 
and soon my wilful heart rebelled against her stern author- 
ity, and one day, when I was left at home alone with the 
servants, I ran away. 

I cannot now trace all the steps of my journey ; I had 
rides with peddlers, I walked along railroad tracks, and I 
followed wandering showmen. At last I found my way 
upon a boat that was bound to New York, and one beautiful 
sunshiny morning— I can almost feel the warm sunshine of 
that morning now — I stood, a little, friendless waif, alone 
in one of the busy streets of the great city. I had a few 
pennies — given me by the captain when I left the boat — 
and I gave them to an old woman who kept a candy stand, 
and who allowed me .to sleep on the floor in her miserable 


IN THE FAMILY TREE. 


339 


home. That very night I was awakened by cries of fire. 
The wretched shelter I had found was destroyed, and I was 
lonelier than ever. Very regretfully I thought of my home ; 
I know now that I ought to have returned there but I 
dreaded the punishment that I knew I deserved, and would 
probably receive, and so — too ignorant to make plans for 
my future — I lingered, with other homeless waifs, among 
the ruins left by the fire, and one day found courage to 
speak to a kind-looking man. From that hour I had a friend 
and a home, for the man was yodr mother’s father, Deacon 
Winslow. 

I cannot now state positively what motive made me 
shrink from telling my story. I think it must have been 
fear in the first place, but as I grew older pride exerted its 
baneful power. My little girl, if to-night I have any 
warning word to say to you, it is this — beware of pride. Be- 
hind all our finite weakness lies God’s infinite power ; for 
all our mistakes his love has pity and forgiveness ; but the 
life that is governed by pride will surely suffer loss. 

As soon as I was old enough to understand all the conse- 
quences of my rash conduct, my conscience began to urge 
me to confess the truth and return to my family ; but I 
doubted their welcoming me, I even doubted their willing- 
ness to acknowledge me, and so the years have slipped by, 
and the duty I ought to have done long ago is still undone. 

Lately I have had many serious thoughts, and I have 
about decided that this summer — for your sake — I will visit 
my old home, seek out my family, and reveal myself and 
introduce you to them. This is a dream ; it may be ful- 
filled ; but something — ^it maybe one of those solemn, pro- 
phetic warnings God sometimes gives us — prompts me to- 
night to write this little record of my life. The hour of 
death is unknown ; it may come suddenly and I would not 
leave you without some knowledge of your family. I 
hope to live until I have made ample provision for your 
support, but even if I should leave you poor, I would not 


340 IN ONE giel’s expeeience. 

wish you then to go to a family as proud as I believe mine 
to he as a dependent. You will be happier if you live the 
independent life of a working woman, who depends only 
upon God. 

But if the glad and solemn day ever comes — as I pray it 
may — that you stand ready to share another’s life, and take 
another’s name, then I want you should know that in your 
own name and your own family you are the equal of the 
best. 

Good-bye, my child, it is a solemn thought that when you 
read this letter, I shall be beyond the sound of your voice 
or the reach of your hand. May God keep you, my darling. 
I leave you in his care. There, through all life’s changes, 
you will be safe. 

Your devoted father, 

Kufus Thorn Montgomery. 

Broadjields, Midnight^ 

May mh, 186-. 

With careful and almost reverent hands, Judge 
Ketcham folded that letter and replaced it in 
its envelope. No one seemed ready to break 
the tender hush that had followed its reading, 
and for a few moments the little room was very 
quiet; but Miss Clark soon returned to the 
matter-of-fact realities of the present. 

“ Does that letter settle anything? ” she asked. 

“It settles a good deal,” Judge Ketcham an- 
swered slowly, “but a few details are still want- 
ing.” 

Throughout the evening Honor had been a 
quiet listener, but now she turned to the judge, 
took the letter from him, and said earnestly: 


IN THE FAMILY TREE. 


341 


“Please tell me one thing. Does this letter 
prove that my father and Professor Montgomery 
belong to the same family?” 

“Yes, it does prove that,” the Judge said 
with much assurance. 

“ 1 wish I understood how,” Honor said in a 
troubled voice ; “ can’t you explain it all to me 
now? ” 

“Yes,” Judge Ketcham answered kindly, “I 
think it is safe now for me to give you a full 
explanation ; until I was sure that I could estab- 
lish your father’s identity I did not want to raise 
any false hopes in your mind. But now — ” the 
judge paused and took a pencil and a piece of 
paper from his pocket book — “ I am sorry we 
haven’t the professor’s tree here,” he said with 
a smile, “ but if you will give me close atten- 
tion, Miss Honor, I will try — without that ‘ per- 
fect ’ tree — to make you understand your gene- 
alogy. 

“ The Montgomerys have a long ancestry,” he 
continued to explain, “but we need not now 
try to trace them in foreign lands. It is enough, 
for our present purpose, for us to know 
that before the Revolutionary war a large tract 
of land, called the Montgomery Patent, was 
deeded by the Crown to one Rufus Montgom- 
ery. That Rufus Montgomery had two sons. 
One of those sons — we will call him Rufus the 


342 IN ONE giel’s expeeience. 

second — liad bat one child, a son, who was also 
named Rufus. And that son in 1826 — ^you are 
following me. Miss Honor ? — became the father 
of your father, Rufus Thorn Montgomery.’^ 

Honor drew a short, quick breath. “ I un- 
derstand all that,” she said, “but now what 
relation am I to Professor Montgomery ? ” 

“ Professor Montgomery,” the judge replied, 
“descends from the second son of the first 
Rufus Montgomery. He was the youngest of 
a large family of brothers and sisters. He was 
first cousin to your grandfather, Rufus the 
third, and — since cousins are counted near or 
distant according to the generations — he was 
cousin once removed to your father, and cousin 
twice removed to yourself. Do you compre- 
hend?” And the judge looked with smiling 
and yet doubtful eyes at Honor.' 

“ She needn’t be ashamed to own it, if she 
doesn’t ; ” Miss Clark said impatiently,” for it is 
just about as easy to see through a key-hole 
when the key is in it, as it is to trace such 
mixed relationships.” 

Honor smiled a little but she still looked 
troubled. “ I do not understand how my 
father could have been so entirely forgotten 
when the professor made his tree,” she said 
sadly. 

“ He was forgotten,” the judge slowly an- 


IN THE FAMILY TREE. 


343 


swered, “ because be was believed to be dead : 
and on the Montgomery family monument, in 
the Richmond cemetery, his name is engraved 
with the date of his death, and that is the rea- 
son,” he added smilingly, “ why the professor did 
not think it possible to find a place for you in 
his family tree.” 

“But if he was said to be dead, what made 
you think he wasn’t ? ” Miss Clark demanded 
now. 

The judge smiled. “ I told you I was some- 
thing of a detective,” he replied, “ and when I 
first read that singular codicil I felt sure there was 
some serious reason for it. After a good deal of 
questioning and investigation, I learned, at last, 
that the body of the fourth Rufus — who was 
supposed to have been drowned — was never 
found. There everything rested, until I met 
Miss Honor. Her name aroused my suspi- 
cions ; and now, at last, I have verified them.” 
And with a little gesture, as if he were drop- 
ping a burden, the judge leaned back in his 
chair and folded his arms. 

“ Will it be possible, though, after all these 
years, to make people believe that my father 
did not die, and that I am his child ? ” Honor 
asked anxiously. 

“ They will be as blind as bats if they do not 
believe it,” the judge replied. 


344 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

Tombstones are tombstones, though,” Miss 
Clark said truthfully, “ and it ain’t very easy 
when one is set up to knock it flat.” 

‘‘ People with truth on their side can some- 
times do hard things,” the judge said calmly. 

Miss Clark still looked a little dissatisfied. 
Suddenly her face cleared. I’ve just thought 
of something,” she exclaimed. “ Honor, I was 
just going to tell you about that boy, Sam 
Black, when the judge put me on the witness- 
stand. You didn’t know nothing about his 
history when you sent him here, did you ? ” 
No,” Honor said, in some surprise at the 
sudden change in the conversation. 

‘‘ You remember he had a small bundle, don’t 
you ? ” 

“Yes,” Honor answered, while, with a sud- 
den flash of memory, she seemed once more to 
see that bundle under the dead woman’s head. 

“Well, Sam brought that bundle here, and 
one day I opened it. There weren’t nothing of 
much consequence in it, but there was a little 
paper box full of old letters, that Sam couldn’t 
have been more anxious about if they’d been 
deeds of lands and houses. He said they were 
to help him find his relations. Well I couldn’t 
stop to read them then — for time’s a drefful 
scarce thing in this house — but one rainy day 
this very month I did open one or two of them, 


IN THE FAMILY TREE. 


345 


and I was surprised to see that there was a 
good deal about some folks named Montgomery 
in them. If I hadn’t been so busy I should 
have written and told you about them, Honor, 
but perhaps it’s just as well I didn’t find no 
time to write, for now, instead of hearing about 
those letters, you can see them.” 

'All the while she was speaking Miss Clark 
stood by the door ready for flight; and now she 
hurriedly disappeared. She soon returned 
with a small box that she handed to Judge 
Ketcham. 

“ I think,” she said gravely, “ since you are a 
judge your judgment will be better than ours 
about these letters.” 

The examination of those letters proved a 
work of many minutes, and while reading them 
Judge Ketcham’s face denoted surprise and 
interest. Presently he held up a piece of old 
time -yellowed paper, and said with a smile : 

“ That tombstone is overturned at last. Miss 
Clark.” 

“ Knocked flat by an old letter,” Miss Clark 
said doubtfully. 

The judge smiled again. “Who do you 
think Sam is ? ” he asked. 

“He ain’t another lost Montgomery, is he? ” 
Miss Clark asked anxiously. 

“No, not exactly, but he does belong to Miss 


346 


IN ONE girl’s experience. 


Honor’s step-grandmother’s family, and to that 
family,” the judge now, for the first time an- 
nounced, “ I belong myself. I shall look after 
Sam’s interests in future, Miss Clark, but first 
I must get Miss Honor’s history straightened. 
Sam’s grandmother and the second wife of the 
third Rufus Montgomery appear to have been 
cousins, and here in this letter” — and the judge 
opened the time-stained sheet — “is a fragment 
that looks as if it had been purposely preserved 
for us. It seems strange, but the strangest 
novels ever written are not so wonderful as 
real life. This letter was written by Mrs. 
Montgomery, it is dated November 25th, 1835. 
Your father arrived in New York at the time of 
the great fire, in December 1835, you remem- 
ber, Miss Honor.” 

“Yes,” Honor said nervously. 

“Well, this letter confirms his story, and” — 
with a smile at Miss Clark — “ lays flat the tomb- 
stone : listen,” and in a triumphant voice the 
judge read : 

‘‘ We have been sadly troubled and distressed about little 
Rafus^ strange disappearance. No traces of him have been 
found, and as his little fishing rod is gone we feel very sure 
that he must have gone to the river fishing, and fallen in 
and been drowned. We think that his death cannot be 
doubted, and I have already ordered my mourning.” 

“ There,” the judge said, “ I believe I have 


IN THE FAMILY TREE. 


347 


at last secured evidence enough to convince the 
most skeptical. Now, Miss Clark, if you have 
anything to do here, before you put on your 
shawl and hat, you must do it immediately, for 
early to-morrow morning you must start with us 
for New York. 

Miss Clark looked quite willing to start at 
once. “ I feel just as if I was reading a story,” 
she said, “and I know I shan’t be satisfied until 
I see its end. Honor ” — and Miss Clark’s eyes 
danced with pleasure as she looked at the young 
girl — “ I think, don’t you, that Sam has made 
you a pretty good return for your kindness ? 
But then” — she added wisely — “an oppor- 
tunity to do a kindness is always an opportunity 
to make a good investment, but the pity of it 
is most folks ain’t wise enough to know their 
opportunities until they’ve lost them.” 

Early the next morning, Honor and her com- 
panions took the train for New York. She had 
not grasped the full significance of the judge’s 
story ; much of it still seemed to her a tangled 
and confused history, but one fact, in all its 
beautiful meaning she had comprehended. She 
had relations, she really did belong somewhere. 
Only those who have never enjoyed it, know the 
full blessedness of a home ; none but those who 
have known the sadness of lonely hours can 
fully appreciate the charms of society ; and only 


348 IN ONE giel’s experience. 

those who have hungered for love and friends 
know how precious and priceless love and friend- 
ship are. 

Honor felt very impatient now to meet the 
professor and Mrs. Montgomej^y ; but even her 
hungry heart was satisfied when she felt the 
tender clasp of Mrs. Montgomery’s motherly 
arms, and heard the professor say, “ My dear 
little cousin, I feel so proud of our relation- 
ship that I am glad to know that my family tree 
is imperfect.” 

The time for the final settlement of the 
Montgomery will case soon arrived. Rufus 
Montgomery’s identity was clearly proven, and 
Honor’s rights as his daughter were fully ac- 
knowledged. All that those rights were. Honor 
little dreamed ; for until every thing was satis- 
factorily decided her kind friends wisely main- 
tained a discreet silence. But one pleasant April 
morning J udge Ketcham entered the professor’s 
study, where Honor was sitting alone, busy and 
happy with her books. 

Judge Ketcham watched her for a moment, 
and then he said : ‘‘You have fairly settled down 
again to your studies, have you. Miss Honor? ” 

“ Yes,” she said in a happy voice. 

“ And you are quite content now, are you ? 
You are satisfied with your new relations? ” 

“ Satisfied ? ” Honor repeated. “ Judge 


IN THE FAMILY TREE. 


349 


Ketcham, you don’t know how grateful and 
rich I feel whenever I think that I really have 
relations.” 

‘‘Hu — m,” the judge said slowly, “such 
riches are not always recognized as valuable ; 
still I am not sure but you are right in your 
estimate of them. But, Miss Honor, now that 
your family claims are all settled, I am curious 
to know about your future. What do you 
propose to do ? ” 

Honor looked at him in surprise. “Why 
just what I am doing now,” she said. “ I am 
going to live with my cousins, and go on reading 
to the professor.” 

“ He doesn’t give you a very large salary,” 
the judge said in a positive voice. 

“ It is quite large enough for all my wants,” 
Honor said contentedly. 

“ Miss Honor,” the judge said after a mo- 
ment’s silence, “ I want to ask you a question. 
Suppose — we are at liberty to suppose even 
fairy stories you know — that you were suddenly 
to find yourself very rich, what would you do? ” 

Honor laughed. “ I am afraid my mind is 
not great enough to entertain such a supposi- 
tion,” she said gayly. 

“ Try to entertain it, and tell me what you 
would do with your wealth,” the judge 
gravely insisted. 


350 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

“ I don’t know what I would do with it ; ” 
Honor said truthfully, but I think, before I 
grew too fond of it, I would give the tenth of it 
back to the Lord.” 

The smile with which the judge had been 
watching her changed to a look of amazement, 
but he only said : Go on. What would you do 
with the remaining nine-tenths ? ” 

Honor smiled brightly ; she was beginning 
to enjoy her imaginations. “ I would like to be 
a kind of invisible Santa Claus,” she said, and 
go around the world dropping beautiful gifts 
into the hands of all the good people who have 
a great many wants and very little money to 
gratify them with.” 

The judge still looked a little dissatisfied. 
‘‘ What would you do for yourself? ” he asked. 

“For myself?” Honor grew thoughtful; 
an old conversation held long ago with Mrs. 
Pennock and Mr. Royalston returned to her. 
The light in her eyes softened as she answered : 
“I am not wise, nor strong, nor good. Judge 
Ketcham, and I might make many mistakes ; 
I might want and indulge myself in many 
foolish things; but I think, to-day, that if I 
had wealth I would want to use it — for my- 
self — in such ways as would make me all that 
God, if he gave me money, would want me to 
be.” 


IN THE FAMILY TREE. 


351 


“ What do you mean ? ” the judge asked. 
‘‘ Does what God wants you to be depend upon 
money ? ” 

No,” Honor said thoughtfully, ‘‘ I can be 
good and true without money ; but great op- 
portunities and privileges involve great re- 
sponsibilities, you know, and I would want to 
be equal to them.” 

The little shadow that had rested on Judge 
Ketcham’s face yielded to a satisfied smile. 
‘‘ Miss Honor,” he said gently, you must pre- 
pare to meet the great responsibilities ; for the 
great opportunities and privileges are surely 
yours.” 

Honor’s face denoted her bewilderment, and 
the judge asked kindly; “Miss Honor, when 
I explained the conditions of that singular will 
to Miss Clark and yourself in Prairietown, 
whose will did you suppose it was ?’” 

“ I didn’t know — I never thought — I was in- 
terested in my father’s story,” Honor stam- 
mered. 

“ Your father’s story was closely connected 
with that will,” the judge explained. “ It was 
your grandfather’s will. Your father, if living, 
would be his heir ; and now as your father's 
only child the estate — and it is a great o-ne — 
comes to you.” 

For a moment Honor looked at the judge as 


352 m ONE girl’s experience. 

if she did not understand him : then as she 
grasped his full meaning she covered her face 
with her hands. 

“ What shall I do with it ? ” she said. 

Judge Ketcham did not smile. He had been 
the executor of many wills, and he had watched 
many heirs in the first moments of possession ; 
but he had never before seen one who received 
wealth as a solemn trust and with the one 
absorbing desire to use it aright. He waited 
until Honor looked up and then he said : 

You cannot tell to-day all that you will do 
with your wealth, Miss Honor ; but if you hold 
it as a gift entrusted to you by God, and look 
constantly to him to direct you in its use, it 
will prove a blessing to both yourself and 
others.” 

It was some time before Honor could fully 
realize the great change in her life, and when 
she learned that the beautiful old house, in 
which her grandfather had lived and died, was 
hers, and that it was thought advisable for the 
interests of the estate that she should go there 
and make a home, she was at first overwhelmed 
with her sense of duty and responsibility. 

But Miss Clark, with her strong practical 
common sense came quickly to her help. 
“ Honor,” she said, “duty is duty and must be 
done ; but if you just lean upon the Lord, and 


IN THE FAMILY TREE. 


353 


follow as he leads you, you won’t find it no 
harder to be a rich woman than it is to be a 
poor one. It isn’t so much what we have as 
what we are, that’s of consequence : and if you 
are God’s true child you will not be afraid of 
any of your Father’s gifts.” 

‘‘But suppose I should grow so fond and 
proud of my money, as even to think myself 
better than others because I have it,” Honor 
said fearfully. 

Miss Clark looked at her soberly for a mo- 
ment, as if to see whether the change Honor 
feared had already begun, and then in a solemn 
voice she said, “ That time won’t never come 
to you. Honor Montgomery, without you first 
drift away from God. Do you just write 
‘ Holiness to the Lord,’ on all your gold and 
silver; and then, though you will always be 
thankful for it, it won’t never make you 
proud.” 

Miss Clark had spoken a good word in good 
season, and through all her after life Honor 
never forgot it. In the spirit of a child, who 
conscious of its own weakness leans hard upon 
the father’s strength, she took up her opportun- 
ities and her privileges, and with them her 
responsibilities ; and with Miss Clark to watch 
over and advise her she wept to her old ances- 
tral home. 

23 


CHAPTER XX. 


AUTHOR AKD CRITIC. 

“ Life is only bright when it proceedeth 
Toward a truer, deeper life above ; 

Human love is sweetest when it leadeth 
To a more divine and perfect love.” 

— Adelaide Proctor. 

^HE summer, with its glory of sunshine, its 
beauty of color, and its rapture of song 
and of life, was upon them before Honor was 
fairly settled in her new home. She had many 
new duties to perform now, and many new 
pleasures to enjoy. Many flattering attentions 
were shown her, and admiration, that once 
might have turned her head, followed her 
wherever she went. But Honor had learned 
the sweet lesson of humility in a good school; 
and now in her prosperity she manifested 
neither pride nor self-satisfaction, for she felt 
neither. As soon as possible she resumed her 
reading and studying. Professor Montgomery 
continued to choose her books and studies for 
her, and she had teachers for all the branches 
she could not pursue alone. She did not think 
of herself as more talented than other girls, or as 
gifted for any especial work ; but with the sin- 

( 354 ) 


AUTHOR AND CRITIC. 


355 


cere desire to do right she endeavored so to use 
her great opportunities that in the end “ Christ 
might be able to approve her life.” 

One day in looking through some old boxes 
she came upon her first and only attempt at 
authorship. With smiling eyes she took up the 
manuscript over which she had once seen vis- 
ions and dreamed dreams. Slowly and criti- 
cally she read it through, and then with a little 
sigh she deliberately dropped it into the fire. 
Long months of familiarity with the b^st works 
of the world’s best writers had cultivated her 
mind, and now she was able to criticise truth- 
fully her own work. She saw how unfinished 
it was in style, how crude in language, how 
common-place in every thought. She watched 
her manuscript burn until a handful of gray 
ashes was all that remained of it, and then she 
took up Mr. Truman’s old letter. She smiled 
a little as she read it. 

“ Mr. Truman was more merciful to me, than 
— if our places had been reversed — I would 
have been to him,” she acknowledged to Miss 
Clark, who was sewing near her. 

‘‘I suppose Mr. Truman had learned not to 
judge of the quality of October’s fruit from 
the May time’s blossoms,” Miss Clark answered 
wisely. ‘‘Honor,” she asked in a moment, 
while she dropped her work and looked search- 


356 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

ingly at the young girl, “ could you write any 
better now, after all you have read and studied ? ” 

Honor laughed gayly. ‘‘ If I couldn’t,” she 
said, “ I am like the chickens good Mrs. Poy- 
ser complains of in Adam Bede. “I ought to 
go back an’ be hatched over.” 

“ Then why don’t you do it ? ” Miss Clark 
asked seriously. 

Do what ? ” 

‘‘ Try your hand at writing again. Because 
you failed once it doesn’t follow that you must 
always fail, does it ? ” 

‘‘No,” Honor said thoughtfully, “but. Miss 
Clark, why should I try now? When I wrote 
that little essay I wanted money, I have no need 
to write for money now, you know.” 

“ Very true,” Miss Clark agreed, “ but still 
if the good Lord has given you talent, I sup- 
pose you ought to use it for him ; don’t you ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” Honor said in a doubtful 
voice ; “ I am not as sure now, as I was three 
years ago, that I have a talent for writing; and 
if I have it is a very small talent, Miss Clark — 
it is hardly worth trying to use.” 

“ Stop,” Miss Clark said firmly. “ Honor, 
that army is quite large enough without your 
joining it.” 

“ What army?” Honor asked in surprise. 

“ Why the army of the one -talented, who 


AUTHOR AND CRITIC. 


357 


have nothing to show of their Lord’s gifts to 
them, except the napkins in which they have 
folded them.” 

Honor sat back in her chair and looked 
thoughtfully into the fire. “ If I knew of any 
good reason for writing, why then — perhaps — 
I would try,” she said musingly. 

“ Reason ? ” Miss Clark echoed, ‘‘ reason ? 
Honor Montgomery, just look around you; 
just see how many bad books there are in the 
world, to begin with ; and just see how many 
young people, how many half grown boys and 
girls are reading those bad books. And then, 
just think again how many souls have gone to 
heaven through the reading of some good book 
that made religion beautiful and Jesus real and 
dear ; and then tell me if you don’t see reason 
enough why if you can write you ought to write. 
You ain’t no call to weigh your talent ; you are 
just called upon to use it ; and when you have 
done that you can leave your work in the Lord’s 
hands. He will take care of it.” 

Honor did not answer. ' Miss Clark’s sug- 
gestion was at once pleasant and distasteful. 
It was pleasant to think of giving expression 
to the vague thoughts that often floated dream- 
ily through her mind ; but she did not desire 
the real hard work that she well knew no earn- 
ebt writer could escape ; and then she did not 


358 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

want publicity. She shrank from the thought 
of seeing her work reviewed, and her name in 
print. But she could not forget the picture 
Miss Clark had shown her of the great army of 
one-talented people, with their unused gifts 
hidden safely in folded napkins ; and at last — 
as she had learned to do about all the interests 
of her daily life — she carried the question that 
was troubling her in prayer to her heavenly 
Father. Should she try to write? could she do 
good with her pen ? would God accept her efforts ? 

Was it in answer to her prayer that, as she 
rose from her knees, these words seemed whis- 
pered to her ; ‘‘ Whosoever shall give to drink 
unto one of these little ones a cup of cold 
water ... he shall in no wise lose his reward.” 

Honor hesitated no longer. She had abund- 
ant leisure, a large library, a memory rich with 
the choice thoughts of true thinkers, an in- 
ventive imagination, and a cultivated mind. It 
was no effort for her to write, and from her pen 
bright thoughts dropped as easily as the rare 
gems fell from the lips of the good little girl 
in the old fairy story. 

It was on her twenty-first birthday that she 
began her task ; it was in the winter, when she 
had few interruptions, and in three months her 
work — a story for children — was finished. Honor 
had learned much since she wrote her little es- 


AUTHOR AND CRITIC. 


359 


say, and she now knew that not even a distin- 
guished name can give success to a poor book. 
Appealing to no one for assistance, she sent her 
manuscript to a well-known publisher with 
simply her name and address enclosed. Some 
weeks went by and then she received a letter 
from the publisher. Her story was accepted 
and would soon be published. 

Authors are apt to become deeply interested 
in the fate of their brain-children ; and Honor 
could not help indulging bright hopes for her 
little book. She had stipulated that her name 
should not be published, and for herself she 
did not desire fame ; but for her work she 
did crave approval and popularity. But the 
little book was published without any flourish 
of trumpets ; it was kindly noticed by a few 
religious papers, and then it apparently dropped 
into the “ Limbo ” where so many books by 
unknown authors rest ; and months glided by 
and Honor heard nothing more of it. 

It was a keen disappointment to the girl. 
“I might have known it would be a failure,” 
she said regretfully to Miss Clark. 

Miss Clark was feeding her canary bird. 
“ Things ain’t always what they seem,” she 
said sensibly. “ The seed isn’t lost that this bird 
eats ; and if you have dropped one good thought 
into one young heart you ought to be satisfied 


360 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

with your seed sowing, you can wait for your 
flowers and fruit ; you’ll get them in the here- 
after.” 

Honor felt the truth of Miss Clark’s words, 
but the setting of a hope is like the setting of 
the sun, — our lives are always darkened by it, 
and it was well for the disappointed girl that 
just at that time her thoughts were effectually 
diverted from her book by a letter from Mrs. 
Pennock. She had returned to Pennock Manor, 
and reorganized her home there, and now she 
wrote asking for a long visit from Honor. 

Janet was with her, she wrote, and also Mr. 
Royalston, who had but just returned from his 
African excursion. If Honor would come, their 
little family would be complete, and they would 
take the old life up where they laid it down. 
Would Honor come? 

There could Ibe but one answer to that kind 
invitation, and one lovely summer day, five 
years after the August night when as a friend- 
less girl she first arrived there. Honor returned 
to Pennock Manor. 

“ Let me look at you,” Mrs. Pennock said 
fondly, when Honor came to her in the library 
— where, too great an invalid to endure much 
exertion — she sat in her reclining chair. 

Silently Honor removed her hat and stood 
before her. Mrs. Pennock studied her face for 


AUTHOR AND CRITIC. 


361 


a moment, and then smiled well-satisfied. Her 
prediction was verified. The pretty, undis- 
ciplined girl had grown into a beautiful woman. 
‘‘ The world has not spoiled you, my little 
lassie,” she said tenderly. And then, taught 
by her own rich experience, she whispered, 
“Nor can it ever spoil one who is truly the 
Lord’s child.” 

Honor’s first days at Pennock Manor were 
very delightful ones. With Mr. Royalston she 
found it easy to take up the old life : his friend- 
ship seemed as earnest as of old, and his interest 
as sincere and helpful. Honor trusted him 
fully ; but Janet puzzled her a little. She 
treated Honor from their first meeting as if she 
were an intimate and even confidential friend. 
Wise in this world’s wisdom she valued people 
more for what they possessed than for what 
they really were ; and to her. Honor Montgom- 
ery, as the heiress of a rich old family, was far 
worthier of notice than she had been when as a 
poor and unknown girl in a lowly station, an 
earnest desire to do right had been her only 
attraction. There was a little ache in Honor’s 
heart when she fully understood Janet’s world- 
liness and insincerity ; but there was no bitter- 
ness in either her thoughts or words. She 
wished Janet well, she remembered her in her 
prayers, and slowly but surely the influence 


362 m ONE girl’s experience. 

she unconsciously exerted — like light on a 
plant long kept in the dark — told on Janet, 
and all that was good in her nature began, at 
last, 'to grow. 

Swiftly — as pleasant days unfortunately are 
very apt to do — the days of Honor’s visit passed 
by. I must go home soon,” she said regret- 
fully to Mrs. Pennock one lovely October 
morning. 

Mr. Royalston caught her words.* Then 
we must ‘gather the rosebuds while we maj^’ ” 
he said brightly. “ Miss Honor, do you know 
what I propose we should do to-day ? ” 

“ You could not easily propose anything 
unpleasant on such a pleasant day ; but my 
mind-reading powers refuse to give me further 
insight into your thoughts,” Honor answered. 

“ What would you and Janet say to a ride 
to Maspeth? Would that be in harmony with 
the day and your mood ? ” 

‘‘ It will suit me,” Janet said ; “ it is just the 
day for sketching, and there is a view of Mas- 
peth in my sketch-book now that I shall be very 
glad to complete.” 

“ It will suit me,” Honor said, “ it will seem 
as if we were doing, what I have often wished 
to do ; returning to a day long past and living 
it over.” 

“We ought to have Ethel here to make this 


AUTHOR AND CRITIC. 


863 


day a perfect counterpart of that old one,” 
Janet observed. , 

“I had almost forgotten Miss Ethel,” Mr. 
Royalston said, “ where is she? ” 

‘‘Married and living in California,” Janet 
answered. 

“ My old china will have to do without her 
admiration to-day, then,” Mr. Royalston said 
smilingly ; “ but Janet, if you and Miss Honor 
will prepare a lunch — and remember the oysters 
and coffee — I will do my best to make this day 
a perfect repetition of the one we spent at 
Maspeth four years ago.” 

They had a pleasant drive to Maspeth, and a 
merry lunch in the old kitchen ; the fire in the 
old fireplace smoked and blazed as it had done 
on that gone-by autumn day that Honor so well 
remembered, and even the old china came out 
from its hiding-place to grace the occasion. 

The afternoon sunshine was warm and bright 
when their lunch, with all its pleasant accom- 
paniments of work and fun, was over ; and 
then, while Janet went off to her sketching, 
Mr. Royalston and Honor lingered in the old- 
fashioned porch to watch the exquisite beauty 
of the dreamy mid-October landscape. 

Presently from his study of nature’s face, 
Mr. Royalston’s eyes turned to Honor’s. 

Miss Honor,” he said, “ you haven’t told me 


364 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

yet wliat you have been doing with yourself 
through all these, years — since we were here 
last.” 

“ I have been studying, for one thing,” 
Honor answered. 

“ I don’t need to be told that,” he said smil- 
ingly ; when the mind is full, the face and 
words are sure to reveal it. But what else 
have you done. Miss Honor ? ” 

“ Oh, various things.” 

“ That is a true woman’s answer, indefinite 
and tantalizing,” Mr. Royalston said playfully. 
‘‘ Now indulge me, please ; tell me, at least, the 
chief of those various things.” 

Honor did not smile ; her face was a bright 
reflection of the red-leaf tree that was waving 
over her head. “ I have written a book,” she 
said in a humble voice. 

Mr. Royalston started a little ; he had not 
expected that answer; but he only said : “Did 
you And it a pleasant work. Miss Honor ? are 
you satisfied with its result?” 

Honor did not look at him. She sat on the 
door step, and while she spoke, she pitilessly 
crumpled a bright maple leaf that had dropped 
into her lap ; “ I enjoyed the work while I was 
doing it,” she said slowly. “ I thought I ought 
to do it ; I hoped it would do a little good ; 
but ” 


AUTHOR AND CRITIC. 


365 


“ But what?” Mr. Royalston asked kindly. 

“It was a perfect failure,” she confessed. 
“ It had no more life in it, than if it had been 
written in a dead language.” 

“ Are you sure you are a competent judge ? 
What -was its name? ” 

“ In June Days.” 

Mr. Royalston’s face had been full of inter- 
est, but now it denoted great surprise. “ In 
June Days,” he repeated. “ Why, Miss Honor, 
I picked up that little book one day when I 
was visiting a friend in the city, and its sweet- 
ness, truth, simplicity, and brightness, pleased 
me so much that, though it was a child’s book, 
I read it all and enjoyed it thoroughly. And 
you think it a failure, do you ? Well, you and 
I disagree ; that is all.” 

Honor’s face was a study ; a tremulous smile 
curved her lips, but tears were in her eyes. “ I 
am glad you can say tha^t,” she said gratefully, 
“ it makes me very glad to know you like it. 
But” — and Mr. Royalston’s quick ear detected 
the pain in her voice — “ I am sure the public 
does not agree with you. I know I have 
failed.” 

“ Have you had any report from your pub- 
lisher ? Is it a year yet since the book was 
published ? ” 

“No,” Honor answered to both questions. 


3&6 IN ONE girl’s experience. 

Mr. Royalston laughed. ‘‘ I am afraid you 
have a genius for seeing shadows as well as for 
writing books,” he said playfully. “Wait un- 
til you hear from the publisher, before you be- 
lieve your book dropped into the river of 
Lethe. My faith is great that you will yet 
find yourself your most merciless critic. But, 
Miss Honor, 'suppose your book is a failure. 
What follows ? ” 

“ Why, nothing,” Honor said soberly. 

“ Do you think you are feeling quite right 
about it? ” Mr. Royalston asked gently. “ You 
said you wanted j^our book to do good ; well, 
after you have written it, and done what you 
could, can you not leave it in God’s hands ? 
Even if it seems to you a failure it may not be 
one in God’s sight. I think you need a little 
scolding. Miss Honor. Do you remember an 
evening long ago when I quoted Edwin Arnold’s 
poem to you? ” 

Honor’s color and smile both brightened. 
“ I have never forgotten it,” she said. 

“ That speaks well for my ability to scold,” 
Mr. Royalston said with playful gravity, “ and 
now. Miss Honor, as I think this occasion calls 
for similar heroic treatment, you may, if you 
please, listen to this.” And with smiling eyes 
but an earnest voice, in the dreamy light of 
that golden day, he repeated : 


AUTHOR AND CRITIC. 


367 


“ * Are deeds so great in the dreaming, so small in the doing 
found? 

And all life’s earnest endeavors, only with failure crowned ? 
You look to the sky at evening, and out of the depths of 
blue, 

A little star, you call it, is glimmering faintly through ; 
Little ? He sees, who looks from his throne, in the highest 
place, 

A great world, circling grandly the limitless realms of 
space. 

So with your life’s deep purpose set in his mighty plan. 

Out of the dark you see it looking with human scan ; 

Little and weak you call it — He, from his thfone may see 
Issues that move on grandly into eternity. 

Sow the good seed, and already the harvest may he won ; 
That deed is great in the doing that God calls good when 
done ; 

’Tis as great perhaps to he noble, as noble things to do, 

And all the world is better, when one heart grows more 
true. 

Let us be strong in the doing, for that is ours alone, 

The meaning and end are His, and he will care for his own, 
And if it seems to us little, remember that from afar. 

He looks into a world, where we but glance at a star.’ ” 

The low recitation ceased, and for a little^' ^ 
while no sound broke the peaceful silence of 
the hour ; but soon with a face that was radi- 
ant with new hope and faith, Honor looked up 
at Mr. Royalston. 

‘‘ Thank you,” she said gratefully, “you have 
helped me now, just as you helped me long ago.” 

He did not answer until some minutes had 
passed, and then in a voice that had lost a little 


368 IN ONE girl’s experfence. 

of its usual quiet he said ; ‘‘ Ought not help to 
be a reflex good, Miss Honor ? Should not the 
hand that gives a blessing carry one away? ” 

“It would make life very beautiful if that 
might always be,” she said simply, while she 
looked up at him with a thoughtful smile. 

He did not return her smile ; he had left his 
seat, and now he came to her side. “ Miss 
Honor,” he said, “ you say that I have helped 
you. You do not know — and I cannot tell you 
— how much, through all these years, you have 
helped me. Your memory has been to me a 
blessing and a shield ; but now I want — your- 
self. Will you come to me, and help me heav- 
enward ? as I will try to help you — my darling.” 

Very low and tender were those last words 
but Honor heard them. The flush in her face 
deepened, but the light in her eyes was glad 
and high. 

“ I think God means it to be so,” she said 
with pure, sweet dignity. 

So in the Father’s name she took the love 
that crowned her womanhood, and in the 
strength the Father gives she went onward to 
meet the life awaiting her — to be the sharer in 
many noble tasks, the comforter in many trials, 
the joy and the inspiration of many hearts. 

THE end. 





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